Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement: Social, Cultural, Political, and Economic Imaginaries 9780228015802

Table of contents :
Cover
Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement
Title
Copyright
Contents
Figures and Tables
Acknowledgments
Acronyms
Introduction: Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement: Contradictions and Contestations
PART ONE AGENCY AND STRUCTURE
1 Representing Women’s Non-Aligned Encounters: A View from Yugoslavia
2 The Foundations of the Non-Aligned Movement: The Trouble with History Is That It Is All in the Past
3 The Ruptures of Non-Alignment and Socialist Yugoslavia: Ten Theses on Alternative Pasts and Futures
4 “Not Like a Modern Day Jesus Christ”: Pragmatism and Idealism in Yugoslav Non-Alignment
PART TWO CULTURAL POLITICS
5 The Long Durée of Yugoslav Socially Engaged Art and Its Continued Life in the Non-Aligned World
6 Non-Aligned Cross-Cultural Pollination: A Short Graphic Novel
7 Practices of Yugoslav Cultural Exchange with Non-Aligned Countries
8 Film as the Memory Site of the 1961 Belgrade Conference of Non-Aligned States
PART THREE ECONOMIC RESTRUCTURINGS
9 Shades of North-South Economic Détente: Non-Aligned Yugoslavia and Neutral Austria Compared
10 “The Sun Never Sets on Energoprojekt … until It Does”: The Yugoslav Construction Industry in the Non-Aligned World
PART FOUR NEW MULTILATERALISMS
11 From Santiago to Mexico: The Yugoslav Mission in Latin America during the Cold War and the Limits of Non-Alignment
12 A Non-Aligned Continent: Africa in the Global Imaginary of Socialist Yugoslavia
PART FIVE MOBILITIES AND MIGRATIONS
13 Transnational Educational Strategies during the Cold War: Students from the Global South in Socialist Yugoslavia, 1961–91
14 New Borders, Old Solidarities: (Post-)Cold War Genealogies of Mobility along the “Balkan Route”
Contributors
Index

Citation preview

Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement

Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement Social, Cultural, Political, and Economic Imaginaries

Edited by

paul stubbs

McGill-Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston | London | Chicago

© McGill-Queen’s University Press 2023 isbn 978-0-2280-1465-2 (cloth) isbn 978-0-2280-1580-2 (epdf) isbn 978-0-2280-1581-9 (epub) Legal deposit first quarter 2023 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Title: Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement : social, cultural, political, and economic imaginaries / edited by Paul Stubbs. Names: Stubbs, Paul, 1959- editor. Description: Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20220407312 | Canadiana (ebook) 20220407436 | isbn 9780228014652 (cloth) | isbn 9780228015802 (epdf) | isbn 9780228015819 (epub) Subjects: lcsh: Nonalignment—Yugoslavia. | lcsh: Non-Aligned Movement. | lcsh: Socialism—Yugoslavia. | lcsh: Cold War. | lcsh: Yugoslavia—Foreign relations—1945-1980. Classification: lcc dr1303 .s63 2023 | ddc 327.497—dc23

Contents

Figures and Tables vii Acknowledgments xi Acronyms xiii Introduction: Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement: Contradictions and Contestations 3 Paul Stubbs

part one agency and structure 1 Representing Women’s Non-Aligned Encounters: A View from Yugoslavia 37 Chiara Bonfiglioli 2 The Foundations of the Non-Aligned Movement: The Trouble with History Is That It Is All in the Past 59 Peter Willetts 3 The Ruptures of Non-Alignment and Socialist Yugoslavia: Ten Theses on Alternative Pasts and Futures 84 Gal Kirn 4 “Not Like a Modern Day Jesus Christ”: Pragmatism and Idealism in Yugoslav Non-Alignment 108 Tvrtko Jakovina

part two cultural politics 5 The Long Durée of Yugoslav Socially Engaged Art and Its Continued Life in the Non-Aligned World 133 Bojana Videkanić 6 Non-Aligned Cross-Cultural Pollination: A Short Graphic Novel 156 Bojana Piškur and Đorđe Balmazović

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Contents 7 Practices of Yugoslav Cultural Exchange with Non-Aligned Countries 176 Ljiljana Kolešnik 8 Film as the Memory Site of the 1961 Belgrade Conference of Non-Aligned States 203 Mila Turajlić

part three economic restructurings 9 Shades of North-South Economic Détente: Non-Aligned Yugoslavia and Neutral Austria Compared 235 Jure Ramšak 10 “The Sun Never Sets on Energoprojekt … until It Does”: The Yugoslav Construction Industry in the Non-Aligned World 257 Dubravka Sekulić

part four new multilateralisms 11 From Santiago to Mexico: The Yugoslav Mission in Latin America during the Cold War and the Limits of Non-Alignment 283 Agustin Cosovschi 12 A Non-Aligned Continent: Africa in the Global Imaginary of Socialist Yugoslavia 302 Nemanja Radonjić

part five mobilities and migrations 13 Transnational Educational Strategies during the Cold War: Students from the Global South in Socialist Yugoslavia, 1961–91 331 Leonora Dugonjic-Rodwin and Ivica Mladenović 14 New Borders, Old Solidarities: (Post-)Cold War Genealogies of Mobility along the “Balkan Route” 360 David Henig and Maple Razsa Contributors 383 Index 389

Figures and Tables

Figures 2.1 “The Five Founders” meet at the Yugoslav Permanent Mission to the United Nations, 29 September 1960. Courtesy of Muzej Jugoslavije, Belgrade, Serbia. 67 3.1 “Partisan Sketches,” poster, 1943, Dore Kleminčič-May. Courtesy of Janin Klemenčić, personal archive. 93 6.1 Non-Aligned Summits. (This and subsequent drawings in chapter 6 by Djordje Balmazović.) 157 6.2 Ljubljana Biennial of Graphic Arts 159 6.3 Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende, Santiago de Chile 160 6.4 Museum of African Art, Belgrade 161 6.5 L’authenticité 162 6.6 The News Agencies’ Pool of the Non-Aligned Countries 163 6.7 The Josip Broz Tito Gallery for the Art of the Non-Aligned Countries, Titograd 165 6.8 Art Pavilion, Slovenj Gradec 166 6.9 The Architecture of Vann Molyvann 167 6.10 The Asian Art Biennial, Dhaka 168 6.11 ganefo, Jakarta 169 6.12 Non-Aligned Nations Contemporary Art Exhibition, Jakarta 171 6.13 Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned 172 6.14 Conclusions I 173

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6.15 Conclusions II 173 7.1 Ivan Picelj, Composition XL, 1952. Courtesy of the Museum of Contemporary Art, Zagreb. 182 7.2 View of the exhibition Salon 54, Rijeka Art Gallery, 1954. Courtesy of the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art, Rijeka. 183 7.3 View of the exhibition Yugoslav Contemporary Art, Aleppo, 1967. Courtesy of the Archive of Yugoslavia, Belgrade. 188 7.4 The ratio of modern art exhibitions and exhibitions of cultural heritage artifacts from nam countries, displayed in Yugoslav museums and galleries between 1961 and 1978. (Sources: Archive of Yugoslavia, Belgrade; aj-553, aj-465, aj-320.) 190 7.5 The ratio of modern art exhibitions and exhibitions of cultural heritage artifacts from Yugoslavia displayed in nam countries between 1968 and 1978. (Sources: Archive of Yugoslavia; aj-553, aj-465, aj-320.) 190 7.6 The ratio of the overall number of Yugoslav exhibitions displayed in nam countries, and an overall number of exhibitions from nam countries displayed in Yugoslavia, between 1968 and 1978. (Sources: Archive of Yugoslavia, Belgrade; aj-553, aj-465, aj-320.) 190 8.1 A wall-size enlargement of the photograph of the delegates to the first non-aligned summit in Belgrade, on display at Tito’s grave during the 2011 ministerial conference. Screenshot from the author’s filmed material. 205 8.2–8.3 Most Belgraders would not be able to identify this obelisk as the monument to the first non-aligned summit despite the graffiticovered commemorative plaque dedicating it to the 1961 and 1989 summits. Screenshot from the author’s filmed material. 207 8.4–8.6 Scanning and inventorying the Pozitiv Ostaci (Positive Outtakes) from the Belgrade summit, June 2020. Screenshots from the author’s filmed material. 210–11 8.7–8.8 Stevan Labudović filming at the non-aligned summit with his arriflex 35mm camera and screenshots from the Positive Outtakes of the Belgrade conference. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 213 8.9–8.10 Screenshots from the Positive Outtakes of the Belgrade conference of Belgraders studying the information panels in Pioneer’s Park. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 217

Figures and Tables

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8.11 Screenshot from Positive Outtakes of President Sukarno watching the broadcast of the conference in a salon in the National Parliament where the conference was taking place. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 218 8.12 Screenshot from Positive Outtakes of Prime Minister Nehru reading a press report on his speech in the Daily Herald in the Plenary Hall of the National Parliament where he had given his speech the previous day. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 219 8.13–8.14 Screenshots from Positive Outtakes of President Sukarno planting a tree in Friendship Park and of President Bourguiba of Tunis posing with the youth after planting a tree. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 220 8.15–8.16 Screenshots from Positive Outtakes of citizens of Belgrade greeting the arriving delegates and listening to the radio broadcast of the conference proceedings on a car radio with an African guest. Courtesy of Filmske Novosti. 221 8.17 Catalogue text in which an image from the Belgrade conference is erroneously used to illustrate the Bandung conference, illustrating the slippage that occurs as events ascend to the status of iconic. Courtesy of Indonesia-digest.net. 223 8.18–8.19 Screenshots from US film kept at nara showing Archbishop Makarios, president of Cyprus, serving liturgy at the crowded Cathedral Church in Belgrade during the summit. Available at https://archive.org/details/gov.archives.arc.645832, Creative Commons. 225 8.20–8.21 Searching for the sound recordings of the Belgrade conference in the archives of Radio Belgrade, June 2020. Screenshots from the author’s filmed material. 228 10.1 Lusaka 1970, collage by Dubravka Sekulić, 2021. 262 10.2 Harare 1986, collage by Dubravka Sekulić, 2021. 271 13.1 The evolution of students in Yugoslavia, 1951–91, in absolute numbers. (Source: Savezni Zavod za Statistiku for all years between 1952 and 1991.) 337 13.2 Proportion of international students by nationality, 1955–65. (Source: Savezni Zavod za Statistiku for all years between 1955 and 1965.) 338 13.3 Proportion of non-European students by region, 1955–65. (Source: Savezni Zavod za Statistiku for all years between 1955 and 1965.) 339

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Figures and Tables

13.4 Proportion of international students in Yugoslavia, 1951–65. (Source: Savezni Zavod za Statistiku for all years between 1951 and 1965.) 340 13.5 Proportion of international students by gender, 1951–91. (Source: Savezni Zavod za Statistiku for all years between 1951 and 1991.) 341

Tables 13.1 13.2 13.3 13.4

The interviews 343 Social characteristics of interviewees: Social status 344 Social characteristics of interviewees: Social origin 345 Social characteristics of interviewees: Higher education in Yugoslavia 346

Acknowledgments

Enormous thanks go to the Rosa-Luxemburg-Stiftung Belgrade Office for South East Europe and, especially, Krunoslav Stojaković and Ksenija Forca for agreeing to fund a workshop on the topic of this book, originally scheduled to be held in Belgrade in March 2020 but, because of the covid-19 crisis, eventually held online between 23–26 February 2021. The support of the rls Director Boris Kanzleiter, based in Berlin, is also appreciated. The Institute for Philosophy and Social Theory in Belgrade hosted the online event and would have hosted the original workshop. Many thanks to Jelena Vasiljević, Gazela Pudar Draško, and Marilea Pudar for their support. The Institute of Economics, Zagreb and past and present directors Maruška Vizek and Tajana Barbić supported a sabbatical leave and a number of study visits that helped in the preparation of this volume. The workshop, and the volume itself, has benefited enormously from the support of those who, in an ideal world freed from the precarities of neoliberal higher education, would themselves have contributed chapters to the book: Catherine Baker, Johanna Bockman, Aida Hozić, Konstantin Kilibarda, Nataša Kovačević, Ljubica Spaskovska, Igor Štiks, and Vladimir Unkovski-Korica. Special thanks to Rade Iveković for her immense support and encouragement and for reading carefully every line of the text. Constructively critical comments by two anonymous referees were of immense help in revising an initial draft for publication. So many friends and colleagues have provided inspiration for me over more than two decades of my engagement with the post-Yugoslav and Yugoslav socialist space. Particular thanks go to Bojan Bilić, Čarna Brković, John Clarke, Igor Duda, Eric Gordy, Elissa Helms, Azra Hromadžić, Mariya Ivancheva,

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Acknowledgments

Noemi Lendvai-Bainton, Danijela Majstorović, Matko Meštrović, Domagoj Račić, Siniša Zrinsčak, and Mislav Žitko. Luka Papa Stubbs deserves huge credit for translation work. Of the many people who agreed to be interviewed in relation to this work, I want to thank, in particular, Budimir Lončar and the late Ivan Iveković. Thanks to the Arhiv Jugoslavije in Belgrade for help in tracking down much of the archive material I rely on in my chapter in the book. Special thanks to Richard Ratzlaff at McGill-Queen’s University Press for his support throughout the project over and above the call of duty and to Candida Hadley for her wonderful copyediting work. This work has been supported in part by the Croatian Science Foundation under the project number ips-2020-01-3992. Any opinions, findings, and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect the views of Croatian Science Foundation. This book was cofinanced through funds provided by the Institute of Economics, Zagreb. Paul Stubbs, Zagreb

Acronyms

afž Antifašistička fronta žena (Women’s Anti-Fascist Front) aica International Association of Art Critics avnoj Antifašističko vijeće narodnog oslobođenja Jugoslavije (Anti-Fascist Council of the Yugoslav Peoples’ Liberation Struggle) cia Central Intelligence Agency of the United States conefo Conference of New Emerging Forces cpy The Communist Party of Yugoslavia csce The Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe ecosoc Economic and Social Council of the United Nations fln Front de libération nationale (National Liberation Front, Algeria) g-77 The Group of 77 ganefo The Games of the New Emerging Forces gdp Gross Domestic Product imf International Monetary Fund kdaž Konferencija za društvenu aktivnost žena (Conference for the Social Activity of Women) lmg Like-Minded Group mpla People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola nam Non-Aligned Movement nato North Atlantic Treaty Organization nieo The New International Economic Order nob Narodnooslobodilačka borba (People’s Liberation Struggle) oau Organization of African Unity

xiv oecd plo psp ssip ssrnj sžd uk fo un unctad unesco unga unido ussr widf zecco

Acronyms Organization for Economic Co-Operation and Development The Palestine Liberation Organization Popular Socialist Party (Chile) Savezni sekretarijat za inozemne poslove (Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs) Socialist Alliance of the Working People of Yugoslavia Savez ženskih društava (Union of Women’s Societies) United Kingdom Foreign Office United Nations The United Nations’ Conference on Trade and Development United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization United Nations’ General Assembly United Nations Industrial Development Organization The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics Women’s International Democratic Federation Zambia Engineering and Construction Company

Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement

Introduction Socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement: Contradictions and Contestations Paul Stubbs

Introduction The partnership between socialist Yugoslavia and states in what is now termed the Global South within the Non-Aligned Movement (nam), with formal beginnings in the summit in Belgrade on 1–5 September 1961, provides an insight into what can be termed “globalization otherwise,” bringing other possibilities and worlds into view than today’s neoliberal globalization.1 nam can be regarded as one of a number of critical “antisystemic worldmaking projects” (Getachew 2019, 3) after the Second World War, a form of transnational solidarity with a vision of a counterhegemonic modernizing globalization whose dominant actors, with the exception of socialist Yugoslavia, were situated outside the European space. In its own way, nam offered alternatives not only to East-West conflicts in the context of the Cold War but also expressed the hopes of a world emerging from colonial domination of the South by the North. In the context of the dissolution of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, the Non-Aligned Movement was actively forgotten, at least in the post-Yugoslav space, both politically and academically. Recent years have, however, witnessed a resurgence of scholarly and activist interest in the history of the nam in the context both of work on the interrelationship between socialist and decolonial processes and in terms of a renewed interest in Yugoslavia in a global perspective. This book brings together authors exploring different dimensions of the relationship between socialist Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement as

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a lens through which to address social, cultural, political, and economic imaginaries that challenged the dominant hegemonic order of the post–Second World War period. The term “imaginary” is central to the book and refers to “semiotic systems that frame individual subjects’ lived experience of an inordinately complex world and/or guide collective calculation about that world” (Jessop 2013, 234). At the height of its influence, nam offered a vision of very different relations between the supposed capitalist “core” of the global system, a socialist “semi-periphery,” and a postcolonial “periphery.” The book is, deliberately, both multidisciplinary and multivoiced, offering a plurality of themes, approaches, forms, and modes of analysis that reveal, rather than ride roughshod over, the contradictions, contestations, and complexities of both the Movement itself and of socialist Yugoslavia’s role within it. In deconstructing political master narratives that conceive of the Cold War as ushering in a bipolar world, the book combines approaches that treat nam as a kind of top-down, interstate initiative with those that focus as much, if not more, on the relatively autonomous spaces created for meaningful transnational exchanges in the realms of science, art and culture, architecture, education, and industry, a kind of “non-alignment from below.” The book addresses two central contradictions of the Non-Aligned Movement, namely the coexistence of a kind of nation-state logic alongside prefigurative forms of postnational networked governance, on the one hand, and the particular and peculiar positionality of socialist Yugoslavia on the other hand, being supportive of but not itself situated in the Global South. These contradictions are, in and of themselves, generative of scholarship that explores the ambiguous, shifting, and porous nature of geopolitical categorizations and configurations. This introductory essay explores the antecedents of the Non-Aligned Movement through an analysis of socialist Yugoslavia’s foreign policies after the break with Stalin in 1948, noting the significance of Tito’s visits to Africa and Asia in the 1950s; the Bandung conference of 1955; the Brijuni meeting between Tito, Nehru, and Nasser in 1956; and diplomacy in and around the fifteenth session of the General Assembly of the United Nations in New York in 1960. This is followed by an exploration of socialist Yugoslavia’s place within the Movement, primarily until the death of Tito in 1980 but also, albeit briefly, beyond that point. This may be described as a “liminal hegemony” – a space between the Global North and the Global South yet providing leadership of

Introduction

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the South – in terms both of Yugoslavia’s impact on the Movement and the impact of the Movement on internal developments within Yugoslavia itself. The third part of the chapter addresses the broader relationship between socialist Yugoslavia and the Global South. The fourth part addresses some of the problems of adopting a “Yugocentric” frame for analyzing nam and introduces the subsequent chapters.

Socialist Yugoslavia and the Antecedents of NAM Although the catalyst for a radical shift in the foreign policy engagements of socialist Yugoslavia was, undoubtedly, the break with the Soviet Union in 1948, there is a strong case to be made that the nature of the Yugoslav Partisans’ struggle against fascism created, at the very least, a kind of symbolic resonance and affective affinity with struggles in the Global South against colonialism. Not only did the Partisans build a movement that united the different nations of Yugoslavia against the local fascist forces, but they were the only occupied European country that liberated themselves from German and Italian occupation. Indeed, in Tito’s meeting with a number of liberation movements in the aftermath of the Lusaka summit of September 1970, he is moved by the similarities between the Partisan struggle and the struggle of the mpla (the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola) waging a guerrilla war against Portuguese colonial rule (Arhiv Jugoslavije [aj], kpr I4–9, Third Non-Aligned Summit, Lusaka, 8–10 September 1970). Gal Kirn (2020, 35) suggests that “the term Partisan stands as a collective struggle … for liberation” such that the internationalism of the Yugoslav communist leadership, with many previously engaged actively on the Republican side during the Spanish Civil War (Pavlaković 2014), exhibited a broader decolonial logic and strategic focus. This is clearly expressed in terms of the political imaginary of a popular front against reactionary forces, in a “struggle … for survival and freedom” (article in Borba by Tito in 1941, in Tito 1963, 9), to bring into being a new, radically different political order. Of course, the nature of the antifascist and anticolonial lineage is complex and highly mediated, not least in terms of very different racialized positionalities in place. For biographical, ideological, political, and strategic reasons, of course, it was the October Revolution of 1917 and the Soviet Union that offered the

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main inspiration for the Communist Party of Yugoslavia, with Tito at its head, in modelling a socialist society in the aftermath of the Second World War (Gužvica 2020). The nature of the “historical no” to Stalin and the break with the Soviet Union in June 1948 was dramatic (cf. Jakovina and Previšić 2020), necessitating both a radical defence of “self-determination” and a critique of an understanding of world revolution based on the “unconditional subordination of small socialist countries to one large socialist country” (Tito 1963, 20). The split, at the very least, created a strong need to find new allies to counter what has been termed Yugoslavia’s “profound sense of international isolation” as a “besieged outpost” engaged “in an epic existential struggle … against both internal and external enemies” (Nielsen 2020, 110). While allowing a degree of relief from a kind of neocolonial economic dependence on the Soviet Union, the split had an economic price, with a blockade on trade with the Cominform countries costing an estimated $429 million in the first two years (Mišković 2009, 191). Aspects of socialist Yugoslavia’s new foreign policy, a mix of idealism and pragmatism not untypical in international relations (see Jakovina, this volume), involved attempts to create a Balkan Federation, appeals to communist parties in Western Europe and wider “progressive forces,” and a degree of rapprochement with the United States and its nato allies. An anticolonial dimension also emerged, with Yugoslavia following the Soviet Union in recognizing the government of Ho Chi Minh in North Vietnam fighting French colonial rule in 1951, followed by support for Mohammed Mossadeq against the cia plots in 1953 to use the Shah of Iran to depose Mossadeq and to allow US and uk companies to resume exploitation of the country’s oil fields (Pirjevec 2018, 212). Pirjevec goes on to note how “Yugoslav determination to resist the pressure of a big power” impressed Asian, African, and Latin American delegates at the un General Assembly held in Paris in September 1951 (214). While recognizing the danger of an overemphasis on tracing the antecedents of the Non-Aligned Movement to “Tito’s travels” (Cosovschi 2021) and “routinised charismatic diplomacy” (Petrović 2014), the fact that Tito made no trips abroad between 1948 and 1953, while consolidating power at home, but made numerous trips to Africa, the Middle East, Asia, and Latin America in the decade that followed, is significant (Vučetić 2017, 19; see Willetts, this volume). Socialist Yugoslavia’s commitment to non-alignment was “a gradual process” requiring “an analysis of the changes underway in the in-

Introduction

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ternational system” and an awareness “that Belgrade’s foreign policy options were conditioned by circumstances outside its control” (Rajak 2014, 154). Many commentators note the importance of Josip Đerđa (Ivan Iveković, interview, 15 January 2020; see also Rajak 2014, 157–8; Pirjevec 2018, 266), Yugoslavia’s first Ambassador to India from 1950 to 1951, as presenting the “daring idea” that “Yugoslavia could find allies among the countries of the Third World, which was in the process of emerging from the grip of colonialism, if it were able to implement a new relationship with them based on mutual respect” (Pirjevec 2018, 266). Đerđa’s proposal eventually gained the support of Foreign Minister Edvard Kardelj who had earlier expressed a skepticism concerning alliances with “feudal lords” (Rajak 2014, 157), an early example of a kind of racialized hierarchy of modernity within sections of the Yugoslav leadership. The establishment of diplomatic relations with India and the signing of a trade deal in December 1948, followed by the election of both Yugoslavia and India to serve on the un Security Council in 1950 and 1951 (Mišković 2009), were also significant landmarks, although it was Tito’s tour of Asian and African states between December 1954 and February 1955 that cemented the idea of a new global role for Yugoslavia. The first meeting between Tito and Indian prime minister Jawarhalal Nehru in New Delhi in December 1954 led to a joint statement noting similarities in terms of the two countries’ emergence “as independent nations, through powerful movements of national liberation” and stating that their common stance of “non-alignment” was not “neutrality” but rather “a positive, active and constructive policy seeking to lead to collective peace, on which alone collective security can rest” (quoted in Mišković 2009, 185). Drawing a “direct line” from the conference in Bandung, Indonesia, attended by twenty-nine Asian and African countries in April 1955 to the first non-aligned summit in Belgrade in September 1961 is, of course, “hardly correct” (Jakovina 2011b, 391; Willetts, this volume). Given its geographical location, socialist Yugoslavia was not represented formally in Bandung, despite claims to the contrary by Tito’s wife Jovanka Broz.2 Indeed, of the attendees, only India, Indonesia, Nepal, and Burma had an openly stated commitment not to associate with either of the Cold War power blocs (Dinkel 2019, 43). Nevertheless, Yugoslav observers Jurij Gustinčič and Jože Smole understood the significance of Bandung as “the first large international meeting that, in

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practice, confirmed the possibility of anti-bloc politics” (aj, kpr-I-4-e/1, Asian-African Conference, Bandung, 18–24 April 1955).3 Attempts in Bandung to keep the agenda “open and flexible” (Dinkel 2019, 49) to avoid conflicts, and the symbolic and performative dimensions of the event, were both prefigurative of the Belgrade summit of 1961. The fact that no formal institutional cooperation between African and Asian states was even discussed in Bandung is, in retrospect, less important than the enhanced status of Indonesia’s Sukarno and Nasser of Egypt alongside Nehru as powerful figures resisting the pressures of the two power blocs. The emerging Non-Aligned Movement and the Afro-Asian conference formed competing visions of how the Global South could and should organize collectively (see Willetts, this volume). The fact that, after the Bandung conference, attempts to organize a follow up came to nothing, no doubt “contributed to the emergence of the non-aligned states” (Dinkel 2019, 83), including socialist Yugoslavia. At different times, China, Indonesia, and Pakistan led attempts to convene a second Bandung, in part at least in opposition to an emergent Non-Aligned Movement. Tito was quick to understand the “revolutionary significance” (Pirjevec 2018, 267) of the spirit of Bandung, describing the summit, in an interview with Radio Belgrade on 27 April 1955, as “an historical turning-point … in harmony with our conceptions … in respect of international co-operation and the strengthening of peace” (Tito 1963, 175–6). The meeting on the island of Brijuni in July 1956 between Nasser, Nehru, and Tito cemented, at least symbolically, socialist Yugoslavia’s central position in demands for a new international order based on “equality … disarmament, (and) international economic and financial co-operation … in accordance with the basic principles laid down in the Charter of the United Nations” (Brijuni Communiqué, 19 July 1956). The trilateral meeting, itself the brainchild of Josip Đerđa, by that time Yugoslav Ambassador to Egypt, proved difficult to organize after Nehru had been forced to cancel his attendance at a conference on Lake Bled, meaning that, in total, he spent only twenty-seven hours in Yugoslavia (aj, kpr-I-3-c/2, Trilateral meeting on Brijuni between Tito, Nasser, and Nehru, 18–19 July 1956). In what would become a familiar story, the fact that some one hundred and sixty journalists had gathered on the island strengthened the Yugoslavs’ case that an important statement should result. While Nehru downplayed the event as little more than “a meet-

Introduction

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ing between friends” (Jakovina 2011a, 39), it became “one of the constitutive myths of socialist Yugoslavia” (Petrović 2007, 139) and, indeed, of the NonAligned Movement. The second half of the 1950s saw a degree of rapprochement with the Soviet Union following the death of Stalin in 1953, although relations with his successor, Krushchev, were far from smooth and the Soviet intervention in Hungary in 1956 showed clearly the limits of autonomy of countries within the Soviet sphere of influence. Yugoslavia’s decision to recognize the German Democratic Republic (gdr) in October 1957 brought Yugoslavia closer to the Soviet Union once more, while alienating not only the West but also Nehru (Pirjevec 2018, 281). A long trip to Asia and Africa in December 1958 and January 1959, including a stop in New Delhi from 14–16 January 1959 that helped to restore Tito’s standing with Nehru, provided numerous opportunities to reinforce his “resolute anticolonialist stance,” using every opportunity “to convince his interlocutors to be wary of the Soviet Union and China” (Pirjevec 2018, 295). The fifteenth session of the General Assembly of the United Nations in New York that commenced on 20 September 1960 saw extensive, and concerted, lobbying by a group of countries termed, variously, as “neutral,” “nonengaged,” and “nonbloc,” formulating a resolution to reduce Cold War tensions, calling for a summit between Eisenhower and Krushchev (aj, kprI-2/12, visit of President Tito to the XV un General Assembly in New York, 20 September–4 October 1960). A tense meeting between Tito and Khrushchev on 28 September 1960 where Tito stressed the importance of the un is followed on 29 September by a meeting at the Yugoslav mission in New York attended by Kwame Nkrumah, president of Ghana, Indonesian president Sukarno, Nasser, Nehru, and Tito where a non-aligned and antibloc politics gained shape (see Willetts, this volume). Yugoslavia’s support for Nasser during the Suez Canal crisis of 1956 and consistent and strong support for the Front de libération nationale (fln) against the French in Algeria had already strengthened its anticolonial credentials. Tito’s speech to the General Assembly on 22 September 1960 sets out the rationale for a movement of the non-aligned, key elements of its future program, and a statement of Yugoslavia’s willingness to be at its forefront. He begins by noting the large numbers of new un member states, primarily from Africa and suggests “that the United Nations will achieve real and complete

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universality in the near future through the attainment of independence by all the peoples now under colonial rule.” He notes that “in an international atmosphere which causes grave concern … marked by a revival of the Cold War,” the spirit and principles of the un Charter and rights to sovereignty for all are more important than ever, and that attacks on these principles are likely to “impair considerably the standing of the United Nations and the trust placed in (it).” Peace-loving peoples are convinced that the fate of the world, in times of heightened uncertainty, “should not be left to the decisions of only a few States.” He notes the failure of the “Big Four” Paris summit meeting – involving de Gaulle and Macmillan as well as Eisenhower and Krushchev, the breaking off of the Geneva disarmament talks, the failure to ban nuclear testing, the revival of militarism in the Federal Republic of Germany, the continuing war in Algeria, the conflict in the Congo, and more. Tito argues that “the process of the national, economic, political and cultural emancipation of former colonies is a historical necessity” as the struggle against colonialism becomes “entangled with East-West antagonisms,” reaching its most dangerous denouement in “the ruthless policy of racial discrimination and oppression” by the Government of South Africa. Underdevelopment must be tackled, he argues, through “technical, financial and economic assistance.” He then moves on to the need for “general and complete disarmament” before outlining principles of international relations based on “peaceful and active co-existence,” “non-interference” in the affairs of others, and the right of countries to choose their own social and economic systems. Coexistence cannot mean the freezing of the status quo but must involving striving, on a daily basis, to make the principles embodied in the United Nations’ Charter into a reality, concluding with a focus on “the contribution that the so-called non-committed countries can make towards the betterment of international relations and to the great role that the United Nations can and should play in this respect.” (Tito 1963, 322–42). This overview of the antecedents of the Non-Aligned Movement suggests that it was far from inevitable that socialist Yugoslavia would look to the Global South as a key part of its foreign policy strategy. On the other hand, it is not a complete surprise given the foreclosing of many other options and, crucially, given the connections forged through liberation struggles even if the defeat of fascism and the defeat of colonialism are not equivalents in any

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sense. Socialist Yugoslavia and the postcolonial Global South met according to what Stuart Hall (2007, 279) has termed “the play of contingency.” Subsequent events, themselves the product of “many determinations” (ibid.), formed one of a number of important, at times opposing and at other times interconnected, trajectories of postimperial and anticolonial challenges to the dominant and established world order.

The “Liminal Hegemony” of Socialist Yugoslavia within the Non-Aligned Movement While it would be rather accurate to describe the Non-Aligned Movement, making fitful progress in the 1960s but more firmly institutionalized on the world stage in the 1970s, as “Tito’s baby” (Jakovina 2011b, 391), socialist Yugoslavia was not the only participant to have its own, domestic, reasons for pursuing non-alignment. Indeed, as Dinkel reminds us, India, Syria, Egypt, and Zambia, for example, were equally adept at shifting their allegiance from one power bloc to the other as circumstances changed, maximizing their room for manoeuvre (Dinkel 2019, 95). It was socialist Yugoslavia, however, that was the key initiator of the Movement, the most committed to preserving its existence as originally conceived, one of “the most ambitious, pivotal and influential” of its members (Jakovina 2011b, 401), and the one with most at stake “in keeping the idea alive when it was in crisis” (ibid, 393). The suggestion that Yugoslavia exercised “liminal hegemony” within the Non-Aligned Movement (Stubbs 2019) points to the somewhat paradoxical combination of its “soft power” leadership of the Movement along with a sense of its liminal positionality in relation to the developing world, the states of which formed the overwhelming majority of its members. Indeed, it was precisely socialist Yugoslavia’s “in-between” status, belonging to none of the three worlds of the US-dominated North and West, the Soviet-dominated East, and the decolonizing South, that constituted this liminality while creating spaces for influence serving to protect its position in times of vulnerability and enhance its status in times of relative security. Its position of “semi-peripherality” (Blagojević 2009, 33–34) created the conditions for the production of difference and, indeed, ambivalence, regarding both Western modernity and colonial subjectivity. As theorizing on non-alignment caught

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up with practice, the nature of the significance of the Movement for Yugoslavia, exerting a positive influence on both “internal social trends” as well as mitigating “world antagonisms” as Kardelj (1979, 70) phrased it, became ever more apparent. Non-alignment, along with “self-managed socialism” and “brotherhood and unity,” enshrined in the federative nature of the state, was seen as essential to “Yugoslavia’s internal cohesion” (Vrhovec 1983, 14), albeit with somewhat different meanings in different historical conjunctures. The Belgrade summit of 1–5 September 1961 was very much an opportunity to showcase the ability of socialist Yugoslavia to host a mass event of global significance (see Turajlić, this volume), with fears of limited media coverage dissipating once work had begun on the building of the Berlin Wall on 13 August 1961 (Dinkel 2019, 98). Fewer states attended than the organizers had hoped for with the United States pressuring a number of Latin American states not to attend given the Cuban presence. In total, there were twenty-five participating states, three observers, and some forty delegations from “liberation movements and progressive forces” at the summit (Dimić 2011, 32). Nehru’s attendance was, apparently, in doubt until the last minute although his fear of seeming isolated combined with assurances of the “one-off ” nature of the summit ensured his presence (Crnobrnja 2016, 74). Tito’s seeming indifference to, if not understanding of, the Soviet Union’s resumption of thermonuclear weapons’ testing just before the start of the summit outraged the United States (Unkovski-Korica 2016, 186) and shocked even his closest comrades within Yugoslavia (Nenadović 1989, 134). The symbolic significance of the Belgrade summit was expressed most clearly in the drafting of a letter to Kennedy and Krushchev urging them to meet face-to-face, hand-delivered to Moscow by Nehru and Nkrumah and to Washington by Sukarno and Modibo Keita, the president of Mali (Dinkel 2019, 102–3). Both the nature of discussions and content of declarations from the 1961 summit established a kind of modus operandi repeated, to a significant extent, at subsequent summits. Contentious issues, particularly when involving two or more participating states, were largely kept off the agenda and consensus decision-making based largely on drafts drawn up by the Yugoslav side, at least until the 1973 summit, and circulated in advance was the norm, allowing for a combination of long speeches by heads of state or government together with some carefully coordinated thematic working groups. Socialist Yugo-

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slavia combined, then, ideologization at home with a thorough going “deideologization” within the Non-Aligned Movement, seeking to avoid any idea that the Movement was favouring either of the two power blocs. At the same time, Tito’s instinct for balancing different interests at home was extended to the Movement, encouraging more and more states to join while seeking to maintain a degree of continuity in both form and content (Budimir Lončar, interview, 26 June 2019). If we strip away its Eurocentric Marxist-Leninism and, particularly, its reliance on a myth of historical inevitability, Kardelj’s (1979) “The Historical Roots of Non-Alignment,” written in 1975, serves as a rather broad manifesto of nam from the perspective of socialist Yugoslavia. Its cornerstone is that of “peaceful co-existence” (Nord 1974, 29), not the status quo ante but rather envisioning a new era of equality in international relations based on sovereignty, independence, self-determination, territorial integrity, the absence of any affiliation with military-political groupings, the avoidance of the threat or use of force, noninterference in the internal affairs of other countries, general and complete disarmament, and peaceful resolution of disputes on the basis of the un Charter. Other elements of the emerging assemblage of non-alignment, perhaps closer to a kind of decentred, anti-Soviet, socialist internationalism, included a clear anti-imperialist and anticolonialist orientation, alongside concerns regarding their replacement by a kind of creeping neocolonialism. Hence, socialist Yugoslavia prioritized support, as much material as ideological, for national liberation movements and, indeed, their right to wage liberation wars (Nord 1974, 51), somewhat at variance with the broader goal of peaceful conflict resolution. The Cairo summit, held between 5 and 10 October 1964, with Nasser promoting the event rather than a second Bandung (Willetts 1978, 15), saw forty-seven participating nations and ten observers including neutral Finland and six from Latin America (Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Uruguay, and Venezuela) although Cuba remained the only participating state from the region (Nord 1974, 116). Despite the best efforts of socialist Yugoslavia, nam experienced a period of relative inertia after the Cairo summit, a result of a number of unconnected events: not least, the death of Nehru in May 1964, the upheavals in Indonesia from October 1965 ending with the overthrow of Sukarno in March 1967, and the defeat of Egypt in the Six Days

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War with Israel in June 1967. Hence, Egypt was both preoccupied and increasingly reliant on Soviet support (Budimir Lončar, interview, 26 June 2019; cf. Jakovina 2011b, 393). The high point of Yugoslavia’s “liminal hegemony” was, in many ways, the summit in Lusaka, Zambia, held on 8–10 September 1970, with fifty-three participating countries, thirteen observers, including eight Latin American countries plus “Barbados, Austria, Finland, the Republic of South Vietnam (Provisional Revolutionary Government),” and the Organization of African Unity (oau) plus six “national liberation movements” as “Guests” – the AfroAsian People’s Solidarity Organization, the African National Congress (anc), and the Pan-African Congress from South Africa, Frelimo from Mozambique, and the mpla and unita from Angola (un 1970). Nehru’s successor, his daughter Indira Gandhi, who had accompanied her father at the Brijuni meeting in 1956, became a strong supporter of Tito’s vision of the Movement and, indeed, agreed with Tito that Nasser, engaged in peace talks in New York with Israel, should either attend for the whole meeting, which proved impossible, or not at all.4 In the same bilateral meeting, on 7 September 1970, Tito expressed the hope that the conference would affirm the politics of nonalignment as “a long-term factor in international relations and not merely a passing phase (prolazna pojava)” (aj, kpr I-4-a/9, Third Non-Aligned Summit, Lusaka, 8–10 September 1970.) He then proceeded to construct the summit as a huge success in a series of bilateral meetings asserting that the Movement had a new positive momentum, with summits from now on being labelled “third,” “fourth,” and so on, and the Movement having a greater degree of formality, although the Yugoslavs resisted growing calls for a permanent secretariat throughout the decade. In a recent text, Dejan Jović (2020) has suggested that, domestically, Tito “lost almost all institutional and real political power” in the last four years of his life, from 1976 to 1980, not least as the 1974 Constitution treated him as a “tolerated exception.” In some ways, this process can, perhaps, be seen as beginning earlier so that, to some extent, Tito was able to concentrate on foreign policy and the Non-Aligned Movement in particular, not so much as “Tito’s baby” as “Tito’s hobby.” This was far from the whole story, however, even politically, with socialist Yugoslavia, not least in the context of the Helsinki process and the Conference on Security and Co-Operation in Europe (csce), becoming more oriented to the European stage in the context of superpower

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détente. At the same time, as Vladimir Unkovski-Korica (2016, 220) has argued, the post-1974 hollowing out of federal institutions saw the East-West conflict reimposed within socialist Yugoslavia itself, again offering a rather sharp contrast between domestic politics, where the Republics held sway, and foreign policy, still dominated by federal bodies and, in particular, the figure of Tito. The argument can, indeed, be extended, given the persistent nature of inter-Republic inequalities and economic and political relations, to suggest that the global North-South divide was mirrored within Yugoslavia and, indeed, took on many of the characteristics, in late socialist Yugoslavia at least, of “neocolonialism” or “internal colonialism,” reproducing a kind of developmentalized, culturalized, and even racialized hierarchy that can also be found within the Non-Aligned Movement itself (Rexhepi 2019). What is clear is that nam throughout the 1970s was increasingly concerned with economic issues (Willetts 1978). It is debatable to what extent there was a singular, stable, economic imaginary within nam, although a focus on “collective self-reliance” was certainly compatible with the political imaginary of self-determination. A concern with removing obstacles to rapid economic and social development was the broad consensus, in line with a general focus within the un at the time. This kind of “modernist developmentalism,” at least in retrospect, was highly productivist, combining rapid industrialization and more efficient agricultural production as the twin pillars of development and growth. Pronouncements on economic problems did contain progressive and innovative elements. The Statement on Economic Progress from the third summit in Lusaka in 1970 referred to “the poverty of developing nations” and their “economic dependency” as a “structural weakness of the world economic order,” the colonial past leading to a “neo-colonialism that poses insurmountable difficulties in breaking the shackles of economic dependency.” It called on the un to bring about “a rapid transformation of the world economic system, particularly in the fields of trade, finance and technology, so that economic domination yields to economic co-operation” (Tadić and Drobnjak 1989, 46–9). The United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (unctad) and later, the New International Economic Order (nieo), largely conceived by non-aligned nations as well as the g-77, became the main vehicles for this agenda in the 1970s, albeit often more talking shops than sites of real action. Indeed, many of the ideas on economic cooperation conceived at a time when

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nam itself became more institutionalized, including ideas emanating from Yugoslavia on a nonaligned development bank and support to the twentyfive least developed countries, while prefigurative, were not transformative. At the very least, however, the idea that less developed countries should have special treatment in global economic relations, in relation to development assistance, imf loans, and the like, can be traced to these initiatives. The extension of economic demands to include a level playing field for terms of trade, the regulation of commodity prices, and development financing and debt reduction for the Global South formed something of a bridge between this and a more radical agenda with Cuba, in particular, highly vocal on the growing unaccountable power of multinational corporations. As Adom Getachew (2019, 100) has pointed out, the nieo was a key part of struggles for a more egalitarian global economy and part of a quest for “political and economic institutions that promised to displace, transcend, or at least constrain” the nation-state, fully aware of the limits of postcolonial nation-building and statehood “in the face of persistent dependence and domination.” Often, it is the flexible liminality of Yugoslavia’s positionality that is striking: in some moments speaking on behalf of “developing countries”; at other times standing back and differentiating themselves from those countries; and even, on occasions, presenting themselves as a developing country. The complexity of Yugoslav positionality is well illustrated at the onset of the oil crisis in 1973, being simultaneously supportive of opec’s (Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries) actions (with some key nam states being members), concerned that the oil price issue should not obscure broader questions of the price of raw materials, and cognizant of its own exposure to price hikes. A very practical issue played out in terms of the position assigned to Yugoslavia within unctad’s rules and later also in unido’s (United Nations Industrial Development Organization) constitution, being placed in a group with African and Asian countries and, hence, in direct competition for key positions in these un bodies (Taylor and Smith 2007). It should also be noted that the economic agenda of the Non-Aligned Movement did not convert easily or readily to greater trade between socialist Yugoslavia and the Global South although the creation of a mobile technocratic managerial class was a key development, particularly in some bilateral trading relations, with Yugoslav engineers, managers, and others a visible presence in some Asian and African countries (Sekulić 2017, this volume;

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Spaskovska and Calori 2021). While Yugoslav exports to developing countries rose from 7.3 per cent of total exports in 1972 to 15.8 per cent in 1976 and 20.8 per cent in 1982, falling back to 16.5 per cent in 1984, and imports from developing countries stood at 10 per cent in 1972 rising to 14.5 per cent in 1976, falling slightly to 14.2 per cent in 1982 but increasing significantly to 23.1 per cent in 1984 (Fabinc and Popović 1988, 357), they never attained the importance that Tito and other key economic planners had hoped for. Alongside the shift to a European orientation in political affairs, the end of the 1970s saw a significant shift in global economic governance away from the un and towards International Financial Institutions such as the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, minimizing the impact of the Non-Aligned Movement and the Global South in general on an increasingly neoliberalized economic order, a shift felt all too acutely in socialist Yugoslavia itself in the 1980s, of course, as its indebtedness became a source of critical concern. In terms of the cultural dimension of non-alignment, it is particularly important to note the attempt to create a New International Information Order, including the creation of a Non-Aligned News Agency Pool, seeking to address a new “global public” in a decolonial world and trying to ensure that the activities and demands of the Global South could be heard in a less distorted form than through dominant news media (Dinkel 2019, 185). Although the Pool itself faced many problems, the idea of harnessing new media technologies for a new global age, not least through its impact on unesco, did make a difference at more than just a discursive level. South-South cooperation and lesson learning in the social, cultural, industrial, techno-managerial, and architectural spheres is, perhaps, the lasting legacy of the heyday of the NonAligned Movement. Again, of course, socialist Yugoslavia held a complicated, paradoxical, and often contradictory position in all of these spheres and in terms of artistic endeavours where challenges to Eurocentric and culturally imperialist notions of artistic modernism often ran in parallel to attempts to prioritize Western art markets (cf. Piškur 2019; Videkanić 2019, this volume; Kolešnik, this volume). As Bonfiglioli (this volume) suggests, the significance of gender in nam has not been explored adequately in the extant literature. Alongside recent work on transnational and global feminist networks, however, a direct lineage can be traced from the Movement to the un Decade for Women, 1975–1985 (Bonfiglioli 2021). Jain and Chack (2009, 898) have, indeed, argued that the

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Non-Aligned Movement developed a sharper and more complex understanding “of the interconnection between trends in women’s roles and status in their societies and the nature and pattern of development processes,” although this did not develop apace until the 1980s or even 1990s (International Institute for Non-Aligned Studies 2018) and the extent to which it was more radical than the mainstream un discourse of “women and development” is questionable. There is a danger of overstating the link between the death of Tito in May 1980 and the decline of socialist Yugoslavia’s influence within the Non-Aligned Movement. The Havana conference of 1979, Tito’s last, followed by Cuba’s formal position as chair of the Movement was not, in the end, as problematic as the Yugoslav leadership had feared. At the same time, even had it wished to, the crises facing Yugoslavia in the 1980s, and tensions between the constituent Republics and between federalism and centralism, would have limited any leadership role. Indeed, tensions around the extent to which Yugoslavia should pursue a more “European” path in its foreign relations were also present. As Unkovski-Korica (2016, 220) has argued, Tito’s attempts to tie the fate of socialist Yugoslavia to that of the Third World was “rational, but ultimately unsuccessful.” It is also important, however, to consider the contradictory impact of socialist Yugoslavia within the Non-Aligned Movement on the decolonial struggle more generally, as I attempt in the next section.

Decentring Yugoslavia: Decoloniality, the Global South, and Radicalized Alternatives to Non-Alignment Socialist Yugoslavia can be conceived as a project of modernity, albeit a kind of “modernity otherwise,” both domestically and in terms of its relations with the Global South, primarily through the Non-Aligned Movement. This was not a modernity that sought, necessarily, “catch-up” or “convergence” with capitalist Northern and Western societies but rather, as Kardelj (1979, 64) termed it, a struggle for “political equality” and “economic, social, cultural, technological and other kinds of progress.” Neither was it, necessarily, an alternative project of socialist modernity in the Yugoslav image although ideas of national planning, worker’s control, and self-management were certainly of wider interest to some participating states. The extent of the Non-

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Aligned Movement’s anticapitalism is also complex. Kardelj’s call for “faster and more rational circulation of world capital” (47) contained a critique “of the alienation of the surplus labour of peoples and its transformation into supra-national monopoly capital” (49) closer to the concerns of the Cuban leadership. At the same time, calls for changes in the terms of trade were more compatible with engineering a new capitalism, echoing Johanna Bockman’s (2011) arguments on the confluence between “market socialist” and “neoliberal” thought. In terms of socialist Yugoslavia’s political steering of the Non-Aligned Movement, we often find a rather conservative stance, inextricably linked with the commitment to “deideologization.” Threats to Yugoslavia’s leadership of the Movement were taken seriously and attempts to take the Movement in a more radical direction, either directly or through the establishment of parallel movements explicitly focused on the Global South exclusively, were countered through a vigorous defence of the global reach of the Movement and the universality of its principles, together with diplomatic offensives to mobilize key allies. One of the first such threats, led by Indonesian president Sukarno, sought to create a Conference of New Emerging Forces (conefo), sometimes described as “the poor nations United Nations” (Suryadinata 1990, 682). conefo was underpinned by Sukarno’s view that only violent struggle could defeat the old established colonial forces and offered a radical mixture of political sovereignty, economic self-reliance, and cultural self-assertion (Khudori 2018, 2), forming an axis with China, North Vietnam, and North Korea (Jakovina 2020, 184). Work on the conefo building began symbolically on the tenth anniversary of the Bandung conference in April 1965, shortly after Sukarno had withdrawn Indonesia from the United Nations. The Yugoslav leadership realized that they could not afford to openly oppose Sukarno’s idea, but quiet diplomacy, supported by both India, although they shared Sukarno’s opposition to future non-aligned summits (Dinkel 2019, 123), and Algeria, led to a consensus that nam should remain as a broader coalition of states committed to peaceful coexistence. The conefo did not take place and the idea itself did not survive Sukarno’s overthrow by Suharto in late September 1965. The Tricontinental Conference of Solidarity of the Peoples of Africa, Asia and Latin America, held in the Cuban capital Havana on 3–15 January 1966, has been described as “a dramatic political move away from non-alignment toward a radical anti-imperialism located firmly in the socialist camp” (Young

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2018, 517), combining revolutionary Marxism with a politics of anticolonial national liberation. The event was as much the brainchild of exiled Moroccan revolutionary leader Mehdi Ben Barka, abducted and presumably killed in Paris in October 1965, as Castro. Crucially, it connected struggles across the three continents with Black Power struggles in the United States, ushering in a kind of deterritorialized anticolonialism aware of the existence of “Souths in the geographic North and Norths in the geographic South” (Mahler 2018, 6). Advocacy of armed struggle replaced the ideology of nonviolence and peaceful coexistence while extending the idea of solidarity to economic, social, and cultural relations. The event was important in raising Castro’s profile, and that of Che Guevara, as leaders of a global revolutionary struggle. Although the tricontinental as a formal political movement only existed until 1968, it had an important afterlife primarily in terms of cultural production: posters, a Bulletin produced until 1980, and a magazine produced until 1990 (cf. Young 2018). Socialist Yugoslavia was largely ignored within the tricontinental, although overlaps in terms of support for the Algerian struggle for independence can be found (Hadouchi 2016; Turajlić, this volume). Indeed, the heyday of tricontinentalism coincided with a lull in the activities of the nonaligned. By the end of the decade, Keita, Nkrumah, Sukarno, Che Guevara, and Amilcar Cabral had either been removed from power or were dead, a series of blows to a more radical anticolonialism (Khudori 2018). The tricontinental certainly prefigured the assertion by Cuba of a more radicalized vision of non-alignment, consistently, if cautiously, arguing that socialist countries, including the Soviet Union, were “natural allies” in the struggle against colonialism (Narayanan 1981, 412). Although Cuba’s involvement in the Non-Aligned Movement limited the willingness of Latin American, though not so much Caribbean, countries to participate, Tito had sought to minimize Cuban influence through a mixture of persuasion, exclusion from certain discussions, and mobilizing of allies (Jakovina 2011b, 396). Even at the Non-Aligned Movement summit in Havana on 3–9 September 1979, many resolutions were watered down from the radicalism of their original iterations (Willetts 1981, 13). Tito’s “mild” and “statesmanlike” speech (Jakovina 2011b, 399) was, of course, his last at such a summit as the baton of non-aligned leadership was passed on once more. Relations with China were also complex and changing across different conjunctures. Socialist Yugoslavia, and the Non-Aligned Movement, advocated

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consistently for China’s acceptance into the United Nations. Subsequently, as Chinese communists denounced socialist Yugoslavia’s “revisionism” and sought to play a pivotal role in the 1960s in an African, Asian, and Latin American counterpoint to the Non-Aligned Movement that excluded Yugoslavia, relations soured. Subsequent border disputes between India and China made an alternative process impossible to achieve. As much as the complexities of Soviet-US-Yugoslav relations, the changing nature of Soviet-ChineseYugoslav relations had a profound impact on the Non-Aligned Movement and its political imaginaries. Indeed, as socialist Yugoslavia recoiled from the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia in 1968, a new rapprochement with China became possible, with the Chinese coming closer to a shared anti-Soviet stance (Johnson 1971). Throughout Tito’s leadership, socialist Yugoslavia maintained its positionality within what we might term “circuits of decolonial affinity,” with real effects politically, discursively, and practically. Whether expressing frustration with some of its partners’ lack of urgency, as in criticisms of the Egyptians’ planning for the Economic Conference of Non-Aligned States in Cairo in July 1962 (Memo from Josip Đerđa dated 28 May 1962, aj, kpr-I-4-a/3, Economic Conference of Non-Aligned States, Cairo, 9–18 July 1962) or complaining regarding Algerian foreign minister Abdelaziz Bouteflika “privatizing” the Movement up to, during, and after the Algiers summit in 1973,5 a central contradiction concerning Yugoslavia’s “liminal hegemony” was focused on the need to be the leader of the Movement and an awkwardness regarding always “providing advice and coming up with ideas” (aj, kpr-I-4-a/11, Notes from sfrj Co-ordinating Cttee for the Preparation of the Fourth Non-Aligned Summit, 4 January 1973). Catherine Baker (2018, 111) has suggested, rightly, that Yugoslavia’s identification with the global anticolonial struggle was often “race-blind.” There was never a crude division between “political” and “identitarian” understandings of “race” and “racism” within the Non-Aligned Movement. At the same time, socialist Yugoslavia showed no particular interest in furthering “the convergence of different strands of Third Worldist mobilisation, including Afro-Asianism, non-alignment, Arab nationalism, and pan-Africanism” (Byrne 2015, 924), as the Algerians would have wanted. Tito’s response, in a 1964 meeting with Algeria’s Ahmed Ben Bella against the ideas that “all blacks are good and all whites bad” (ibid.) suggests a lack of understanding about

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the racialized structurings of both capitalism and colonialism although, as Byrne himself argues, this was more a “non-racial” than an explicitly “racist” stance (921), even if, in terms of everyday interactions of some citizens with foreign students and at the level of political culture, there were traces of racism in Yugoslav society. Subotić and Vučetić (2019) have suggested that socialist Yugoslavia failed to appreciate the racialized structuring of global society at the same time as being self-consciously anticolonialist and, indeed “agitational” in support of anticolonial liberation movements that definitively held on to a racialized view of politics (Byrne 2015). What is clear is that Yugoslavia’s distrust of some radical alternatives to the Non-Aligned Movement included a failure to engage with racism other than in terms of its most dramatic manifestations in apartheid Southern Africa. An ambiguous understanding of global class relations, then, went alongside a failure to address fully racialized and gendered structures of oppression and questions of planetary ecological boundaries. Throughout the 1980s, as détente between the Soviet Union and the United States unravelled, the capacity of nam states to resist pressures from one or other of the superpowers was reduced, not least in the context of increasing conflicts between nam member states themselves (Dinkel 2019, 233–5). The Soviet Union, embroiled in its intervention in Afghanistan, faced massive internal crises and could not come close to matching the carrot of Western development assistance in recruiting new allies. nam appeared more divided than ever, as indicated by the failure of many nam states to support Cuba’s bid for a seat on the un Security Council in 1979 even as it held the formal chair of nam (ibid.). As Jakovina (this volume) addresses in detail, although the roots of the economic and political crisis that hit socialist Yugoslavia in the 1980s were much more profound, they were also played out in explicit positions taken by the Republics of Slovenia and Croatia regarding the wastefulness of funding an alliance with the Third World. While consistent lobbying from sections of the federal government brought the 1989 summit, the last to be held in the era of the Cold War, back to Belgrade, Yugoslavia, it, of course, fell apart and, in 1991, while still formally chairing the Movement, full scale war broke out in Slovenia and, later, Croatia. The wars of the Yugoslav succession, along with conflicts in Iraq, Kuwait, and Somalia, served to question further the role of nam in international politics and conflict resolution. The

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debate on Yugoslavia’s status within nam, echoing similar debates within the un, contributed to turmoil within the Movement and demonstrated its powerlessness when Serbia and Montenegro, under the name of Yugoslavia, had so obviously breached the principles of the Movement (Syatauw 1994, 136).

The Book Of course, there are dangers in what, elsewhere (Stubbs 2021), I have termed “Yugocentrism,” namely a focus on the Non-Aligned Movement primarily through the lens of the study of socialist Yugoslavia. The need for a “double movement,” reinserting socialist Yugoslavia into global social, cultural, political, and economic relations while decentring it as only one node in a set of dense, complex, and changing networks, is clear. This book, then, while central to the first Movement, inevitably leaves much ground uncovered in terms of the second. The chapters that follow pursue diverse aspects of socialist Yugoslavia’s relationship to the Non-Aligned Movement addressing political, economic, cultural, and social dimensions. Chiara Bonfiglioli explores the under-researched question of women’s experiences of and participation in non-alignment through a close reading of the Yugoslav journal Žena. She argues that, although dominant discourses often served to “domesticate” women’s struggles, both Yugoslav activists and their sisters in the Global South maintained a commitment to anticolonial struggles and women’s participation in the public sphere, contributing to a new framing in terms of “women and development” within nam and, even more so, within the un. Peter Willetts explores the origins of the Non-Aligned Movement and suggests that, when looked at from an historical international relations perspective, the Bandung conference was not the basis for forming the Non-Aligned Movement. Rather, there was a divergence between Bandung’s bicontinentalism and the global solidarity of nam. He addresses the gradual institutionalization of nam and assesses its contemporary relevance, concluding that, while lacking “strong institutions, inspiring leadership, and a common ideology,” it contains a latent potential to contribute, again, to multilateral cooperation, a strengthened un, and to more equitable North-South relations.

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Gal Kirn presents a set of ten theses highlighting the political and cultural importance of nam and socialist Yugoslavia in connecting antifascist, anticolonial, and anti-imperialist struggles. Understanding historical processes through Althusser’s (2006) concept of “ruptures,” Kirn explores the ways in which nam disrupted narratives of a bipolar world and modernist teleology and represented a yearning for interconnected spaces of autonomous solidarity in the economic, political, and cultural spheres. Using material from the archives of Budimir Lončar, the subject of his latest book (Jakovina 2020), historian Tvrtko Jakovina presents a detailed conjunctural account of the Non-Aligned Movement, exploring the balance between more pragmatic and more idealistic elements across different historical periods. He discusses, in particular, the efforts of socialist Yugoslavia in the 1980s to “modernize” and “adapt” the Movement to changing global conditions as well as to Europeanize the politics of nonalignment. In her chapter, Bojana Videkanić extends her important work on “nonaligned modernism” (2020), tracing its roots in Yugoslav engaged art and culture of the early part of the twentieth century. In a similar vein to Kirn, she addresses the importance of the connections between artists, writers, workers, peasants, and political cadres in the Partisan struggle in the Second World War and the ways these networks helped to shape cultural politics after the war. Crucially, in terms of non-alignment, she explores some of the important cultural exchanges that occurred in the 1960s and 1970s based on shared understandings of culture in the context of nation-state building and decolonial struggles. Using a fascinating and engaging graphic novel format, Bojana Piškur and Đorđe Balmazović describe a number of cultural interventions linked to the Non-Aligned Movement as spaces that allowed for thinking with, and celebrating, difference. As they argue, the graphic novel has a long and important role in Yugoslav cultural production and is used here to produce a more accessible illustration of non-alignment than is often found in formally academic texts. The concluding illustrations also seek to initiate an important dialogue on the continued political and ethical relevance of nonaligned sensibilities. Ljiljana Kolešnik explores the position of culture, and cultural policies and politics, in Yugoslavia’s non-aligned politics and how this was expressed, contradictorily rather than consistently, in cultural exchanges with other

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member states and beyond. Her focus on the visual arts, on administrativebureaucratic practices, and on the objectives of cultural exchange illuminates both support for and solidarity with struggles against colonialism but also the ways in which a dominant framing within Eurocentric understandings of art strips a great deal of artistic production from the Global South of both its political and aesthetic value. Theorist and filmmaker Mila Turajlić, in her chapter, provides a captivating account of what released and unreleased newsreel footage from the 1961 Belgrade summit can tell us about the variegated memories of non-alignment both spatially and temporally. She focuses on the importance of the 1961 summit as a media and mediated event and its visual reassembling as part of Serbia’s half-hearted and ambiguous, at best, celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the summit in 2011. She concludes that film archives, such as those she has been working in and with, do not merely recall the past but become a medium for the reconfiguration of the past in new constellations. In his chapter, Jure Ramšak focuses on the economic imaginaries of Yugoslav non-alignment, comparing this with that of its neutral neighbour Austria, noting significant parallels in terms of the “rules of the game” of international economic development but also their failure to work together to advocate for reforms much less to establish any joint practices in terms of expanding trade with the countries of the Global South. He argues that, although there was a brief window of opportunity before the rise of global neoliberalism, European countries with different social, economic, and political systems failed to translate East-West détente into a new economic order between the North and the South. In a carefully crafted study of a particular Yugoslav company, Dubravka Sekulić addresses the role of Energoprojekt in architectural design and construction work for the Non-Aligned Movement summits in Lusaka, Zambia, in 1970 and Harare, Zimbabwe, in 1986. Combining a critical reading of the spatiality of conference centres with a political economy of the functioning of large Yugoslav companies in the global marketplace over time, she demonstrates the conjunctural confluence of Yugoslavia’s economic decline, the erosion of the progressive political imaginaries of non-alignment, and the rise of a neoliberal economic order. In a chapter that demonstrates some of the limits of Yugoslav-led nonalignment as a geopolitical force, Agustin Cosovschi traces the weakening of

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ties between radical political projects in Latin America and the Yugoslav model of non-alignment. Just as the latter took, in no small part a reaction to the spectre of Cuba, an increasingly moderate and nonideological form, radical movements in Latin America increasingly saw Cuba as their reference point in the face of the regional hegemony of the United States. In his chapter, Nemanja Radonjić explores the importance of the African continent, both real and imagined, to the Non-Aligned Movement, addressing the complexities and contradictions of both socialist Yugoslavia’s relation to different African states, on the one hand, and the impacts of Africa within socialist Yugoslavia itself, on the other. “Africa” as a discursive imaginary became both a key trope of non-alignment itself and also a kind of confirmation of socialist Yugoslavia’s global role. He charts the ways in which, in the heyday of non-alignment in the 1970s, a new genre of travelogues emerged, rendering Africa as readable to Yugoslav publics. Leonora Dugonjic-Rodwin and Ivica Mladenović explore the life paths of students from the Global South in socialist Yugoslavia and beyond. Through interview material, they trace the complexities of the relation between education, cultural and material capitals, students’ relationship to socialist imaginaries, and, in particular, the continued resonance of nonalignment to their identities. David Henig and Maple Razsa bring the story right up to date through their focus on support for refugees and asylum seekers along the so-called Balkan route as a kind of practical and affective afterlife of Yugoslavia’s nonaligned commitments and entanglements. Their investigation of aspects of the Islamic dimensions of non-alignment opens up a number of important themes for further research on “actually existing political solidarities.” Conceived in the hope that the book as a whole may be more than merely a sum of its parts, the book challenges a kind of amnesia about the role of socialist Yugoslavia in the Non-Aligned Movement without ever lapsing into uncritical nostalgia. The rationale for the book involves “re-membering” in bell hooks’ sense of “putting fragments back together” (hooks and West 2017, 88). These fragments are chosen because of the relevance and excellence of their scholarship, as well as to reflect a sense of the importance of different styles and standpoints, of not merely allowing but actually celebrating differences in form and content. The fact that authors come to different conclusions regarding aspects of the role of socialist Yugoslavia, sometimes in terms of

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broad characterizations, sometimes in terms of particular details, is, in my view, a strength and not a weakness of the collection. Often, these disagreements can be traced to the different questions asked, methodologies and conceptual frameworks utilized, and sometimes they reflect authorial judgments and differences in standpoints. I have made no deliberate attempt to seek to pass judgment on these disagreements because it is important to open up such debates and not close them down prematurely. The deliberate choice to produce a radically interdisciplinary volume has never, in my view, been at the expense of intellectual rigour and empirical robustness.

The Afterlives of Non-Alignment In his epic work The Darker Nations, Vijay Prashad (2007, 101) discusses nam as a “moral force” in the world, not least in terms of the struggle for “the democratization of the United Nations and its re-creation into an instrument for justice” (104). He charts attempts, through both the South Commission and the g-15, to breathe new life into the struggles of the Global South but argues that, even by 1990, nam, along with unctad, the g-77, and others had “faded into insignificance” (277) under the spectre of “imf-driven globalization” (279). His view that, even quite early on, nam’s “rhetoric exceeded the policies” (96) may be in need of revision, not least as Prashad (2021) himself is revisiting the progressive elements of the New International Economic Order. He is, however, surely right to suggest that nam merely “lumbers on” (2007, 100), a point reiterated by a number of chapter authors. In October 2021, the Non-Aligned Movement gathered for two days in Belgrade to commemorate the sixtieth anniversary of the first summit. Serbian minister of Foreign Affairs Nikola Selaković suggested, rather pretentiously, that, for those two days, Belgrade was “the centre of the world,” suggesting that hosting the meeting was central to the “rebranding of Serbia” (Republic of Serbia, Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2021). Not unlike recent nam summits, under the current chair Azerbaijan, the meeting was marked by disputes over who should be invited, with Russia now involved as an observer. As I have argued elsewhere, it is the afterlives of the “golden age” of nam that are more relevant for a progressive internationalism than its current machinations (Stubbs 2021). Its support for decolonization and articulation of antiracism,

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alongside pressure for a new economic order, a world free of nuclear weapons, and a rejuvenated United Nations, remain as relevant as ever in today’s world, I would suggest. In exploring the possibilities and challenges of emancipatory practices within the Non-Aligned Movement with a particular focus on the role played by socialist Yugoslavia, the book is, hopefully, of historical importance, but much more than that, as well. Conceived as a series of interlocking contributions by leading scholars, the book draws attention to “global Yugoslavia” and the importance of bringing together the study of socialist and decolonial relations. It is offered as a humble contribution to continued scholarship on all aspects of these relations and of activism for a more just world.

notes 1 This introductory chapter is the result of the collaborative research project Models and Practices of Global Cultural Exchange and Non-aligned Movement. Research in the Spatio-Temporal Cultural Dynamics (ips-2020-013992), supported by the Croatian Science Foundation and the Slovenian Research Agency. Comments on an earlier draft by two anonymous referees, Chiara Bonfiglioli, Rada Iveković, Brigitte le Normand, Jože Pirjevec, Jure Ramšak, Nemanja Radonjić, Maple Razsa, and Peter Willetts have helped immensely in the writing of this chapter. Responsibility for what follows is, of course, mine alone. 2 In her biography (Jokanović 2013), Jovanka Broz recalls an incident that could not have occurred since she and Tito were not present in Bandung: “In Bandung, while sitting next to Nehru, I told Tito: ‘Why do you keep whining about these two blocs? Why don’t you do something about it? Let us create something else, a third thing, a tampon between these two powers. Why wouldn’t we do it when we are already inhabiting such circumstances?’ Nehru heard what I said and welcomed it. He said I was right. Future developments followed that direction. The Non-Aligned Movement was thus formed” (Hozić 2016, 98). 3 The quote comes from Gustinčič and Smole’s report on the conference. 4 Nasser died of a heart attack not long after, on 28 September 1970, aged 52, after convening an emergency Arab League summit. 5 “We cannot allow that the preparations become privatized by one country or,

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even worse, one man … The holding of a summit in a particular country does not mean it is their concern alone and that they decide about everything; rather, there has to be appointed or chosen a wider body that can plan the preparations” (my translation) aj, kpr-I-4-a/12, Federal Executive Cttee, Notes from preparatory meeting for the Fourth Non-Aligned Summit, 22 March 1973.

references Althusser, Louis. 2006. For Marx. London: Verso. aj. Arhiv Jugoslavije (Archives of Yugoslavia), Belgrade, Serbia, Kabinet Predsednika Republika (Cabinet of the President of the Republic), Fund no. 837. Baker, Catherine. 2018. Race and the Yugoslav Region: Postsocialist, Post-conflict, Postcolonial? Manchester: Manchester University Press. Blagojević, Marina. 2009. Knowledge Production at the Semiperiphery: A Gender Perspective. Belgrade: Institut za kriminološka i sociološka istraživanja. Bockman, Johana. 2011. Markets in the Name of Socialism: The Left-Wing Origins of Neoliberalism. Stanford, ct: Stanford University Press. Bonfiglioli, Chiara. 2021. “Women’s Internationalism and the Yugoslav-Indian Connections: From the Non-Aligned Movement to the un Decade for Women.” Nationalities Papers 49 (3): 446–61. Byrne, Jeffrey James. 2015. “Beyond Continents, Colours, and the Cold War: Yugoslavia, Algeria, and the Struggle for Non-Alignment.” The International History Review 37 (5): 912–32. Cosovschi, Agustin. 2021. “Searching for Allies in America’s Backyard: Yugoslav Endeavors in Latin America in the Early Cold War.” The International History Review 43 (2): 281–96. Crnobrnja, Stanko. 2016. Neočekivana promjena: kako je stvoren pokret nesvrstanih – dnevnički zapisi Bogdana Crnobrnje iz 1961. godine (Unexpected Change: How the Non-Aligned Movement was Established – the diaries of Bogdan Crnobrnja from 1961). Belgrade: dmd. Dimić, Ljubodrag. 2011. “Towards the Belgrade Conference: Yugoslavia and the Beginnings of the Non-Aligned Movement.” In The First Conference of Heads of State or Government of Non-Aligned Countries, Belgrade 1961, 221–34. Belgrade: Archives of Yugoslavia. Exhibition catalogue. Dinkel, Jürgen. 2019. The Non-Aligned Movement: Genesis, Organization and Politics (1927–1992). Leiden: Brill.

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Fabinc, Ivo, and Tomislav Popović. 1988. Yugoslavia in the World Economy on the Threshold of the XXI Century. Belgrade: Consortium of Economic Institutes & Review of International Affairs. Getachew, Adom. 2019. Worldmaking after Empire: The Rise and Fall of SelfDetermination. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. Gužvica, Stefan. 2020. Before Tito: The Communist Party of Yugoslavia during the Great Purge (1936–1940). Estonia: Tallinn University Press. Hadouchi, Olivier. 2016. Images of Non-Aligned and Tricontinental Struggles. Belgrade: Museum of Contemporary Art. Hall, Stuart. 2007. “Epilogue: Through the Prism of an Intellectual Life.” In Culture, Politics, Race and Diaspora: The Thought of Stuart Hall, edited by Brian Meeks and Stuart Hall, 269–91. London: Lawrence & Wishart. hooks, bell, and Cornel West. (1991) 2017. Breaking Bread: Insurgent Black Intellectual Life. New York: Routledge. Hozić, Aida A. 2016. “False Memories, Real Political Imaginaries: Jovanka Broz in Bandung.” In Meanings of Bandung: Postcolonial Orders and Decolonial Visions, edited by Quynh N. Pham and Robbie Shillian, 95–100. London: Rowman & Littlefield. International Institute for Non-Aligned Studies. 2018. “Gender Equality: A Prime Concern for Non-Aligned Movement.” New Delhi Times, 7 May 2018. https://www.newdelhitimes.com/gender-equality-a-prime-concern-for-nonaligned-movement/. Jain, Devaki, and Shubha Chacko. 2009. “Walking Together: The Journey of the Non-Aligned Movement and the Women’s Movement.” Development in Practice 19 (7): 895–905. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011a. Treća strana hladnog rata (The Third Side of the Cold War). Zagreb: Fraktura. – 2011b. “Tito’s Yugoslavia as the Pivotal State of the Non-Aligned.” In Tito – vi enja i tumačenja (Tito – Visions and Interpretations). Zbornik radova/Collection of texts, 389–404. Belgrade: Institut za noviju istoriju Srbije and Arhiv Jugoslavije. – 2020. Budimir Lončar: od Preka do vrha svijeta (Budimir Lončar: From Preko to the Summit of the World). Zagreb: Fraktura. Jakovina, Tvrtko, and Martin Previšić, eds. 2020. The Tito–Stalin Split 70 Years After. Zagreb-Ljubljana: ff Press / Ljubljana University Press. Jessop, Bob. 2013. “Recovered Imaginaries, Imagined Recoveries: A Cultural Political Economy of Crisis Construals and Crisis Management in the North Atlantic

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Financial Crisis.” In Before and Beyond the Global Economic Crisis: Economics, Politics and Settlement, edited by Mats Brenner, 234–54. London: Edward Elgar. Johnson, A. Ross. 1971. “The Sino-Soviet Relationship and Yugoslavia: 1949–1971.” Paper presented at the Annual Convention of the American Association for the Advancement of Slavic Studies, 25–7 March. https://apps.dtic.mil/dtic/tr/full text/u2/732676.pdf. Jokanović, Žarko. 2013. Moj život, moja istina (My Life, My Truth). Belgrade: Blic. Jović, Dejan. 2020. “‘Comrade Tito, It’s All Your Fault’: Yugoslav Citizens’ Letters to Josip Broz Tito.” Politički misao 57 (4): 7–32. Kardelj, Edvard. 1975. Istorijski koreni nesvrstavanja (The Historical Roots of NonAlignment). Belgrade: Komunist. Khudori, Darwis. 2018. “Bandung Conference and Its Constellation: An Introduction.” In Bandung Legacy and Global Future: New Insights and Emerging Forces, edited by Darwis Khudori, 1–20. New Delhi: Aakar Books. Kirn, Gal. 2020. The Partisan Counter-Archive: Retracing the Ruptures of Art and Memory in the Yugoslav People’s Liberation Struggle. Berlin: De Gruyter. Mahler, Anne Garland. 2018. From the Tricontinental to the Global South: Race, Radicalism and Transnational Solidarity. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Mišković, Nataša. 2009. “The Pre-History of the Non-Aligned Movement: India’s First Contacts with the Communist Yugoslavia, 1948–50.” India Quarterly 65 (2): 185–200. Narayanan, R. 1981. “Cuba and the Non-Aligned Movement.” International Studies (New Delhi) 20 (1–2): 411–3. Nenadović, Aleksandar. 1989. Razgovori s Kočom (Conversations with Koča). Zagreb: Globus. Nielsen, Christian Axboe. 2020. “Never-Ending Vigilance: The Yugoslav State Security Service and Cominform Supporters after Goli Otok.” In The Tito–Stalin Split 70 Years After, edited by Tvrtko Jakovina and Matin Previšić, 109–20. ZagrebLjubljana: ff Press / Ljubljana University Press. Nord, Lars. 1974. Nonalignment and Socialism: Yugoslav Foreign Policy in Theory and Practice. Stockholm: Raben & Sjogren. Pavlaković, Vjeran. 2014. The Battle for Spain is Ours: Croatia and the Spanish Civil War, 1936–1939. Zagreb: Srednja Europa. Petrović, Vladimir. 2007. Jugoslavija stupa na Bliski Istok: stvaranje jugoslovenske bliskoistočne politike 1946–1956 (Yugoslavia’s Presence in the Middle East: The Making of Yugoslav Middle Eastern Policy 1946–1956). Belgrade: Institut za savremenu istoriju.

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– 2014. “Josip Broz Tito’s Summit Diplomacy in the International Relations of Socialist Yugoslavia 1944–1961.” In Annales: series historia et sociologia 24 (4): 577–92. Pirjevec, Jože. (2011) 2018. Tito and His Comrades. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Piškur, Bojana. 2019. “Southern Constellations: Other Histories, Other Modernities.” In Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned, 9–24. Ljubljana: Moderna Galerija. Exhibition catalogue. Prashad, Vijay. 2007. The Darker Nations: A People’s History of the Third World. New York: New Press. – 2021. “Dilemmas of Humanity.” Lecture for the workshop Towards a Conjunctural Political Economy of Non-Alignment and Cultural Politics, Rijeka, Croatia, 27 September 2021. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8lcqRtJgj_Y&t=2s. Rajak, Svjetozar. 2014. “No Bargaining Chips, No Spheres of Interest: The Yugoslav Origins of Cold War Non-Alignment.” Journal of Cold War Studies 16 (1): 146–79. Republic of Serbia, Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 2021. “Selaković: Belgrade Has Been the Centre of the World for the Last Two Days.” Press Release, 12 October 2021. https://www.mfa.gov.rs/en/press-service/statements/selakovic-belgrade-hasbeen-centre-world-last-two-days. Rexhepi, Piro. 2019. “Imperial Inventories, ‘Illegal Mosques’ and Institutionalized Islam: Coloniality and the Islamic Community of Bosnia and Herzegovina.” History and Anthropology 30 (4): 477–89. Sekulić, Dubravka. 2017. “Energoprojekt in Nigeria: Yugoslav Construction Companies in the Developing World.” Southeastern Europe 41 (2): 200–29. Spaskovska, Ljubica, and Ana Calori. 2021. “A Non-Aligned Business World: The Global Socialist Enterprise Between Self-Management and Transnational Capitalism.” Nationalities Papers 49 (3): 413–27. Stubbs, Paul. 2019. “Socialist Yugoslavia and the Antinomies of the Non-Aligned Movement.” LeftEast, 17 June 2019. https://www.criticatac.ro/lefteast/yugoslaviaantinomies-non-aligned-movement/. – 2021. “The Emancipatory Afterlives of Non-Aligned Internationalism.” Rose Luxembourg Stiftung. https://www.rosalux.de/en/publication/id/41631/the-emanci patory-afterlives-of-non-aligned-internationalism. Subotić, Jelena, and Srdjan Vučetić. 2019. “Performing Solidarity: Whiteness and Status-Seeking in the Non-Aligned World.” Journal of International Relations and Development 22 (5): 722–43.

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Suryadinata, Leo. 1990. “Indonesia–China Relations: A Recent Breakthrough.” Asian Survey 30 (7): 682–96. Syatauw, J.J.G. 1994. “The Non-Aligned Movement at the Crossroads – The Jakarta Summit Adapting to the Post–Cold War Order.” Asian Yearbook of International Law 3:129–62. Tadić, Bojana, and Dromnjak, Miloš, eds. 1989. Documents of the Gatherings of the Non-Aligned Countries, Vol. 1. Belgrade: Međunarodna politika & Institut za međunarodnu politiku i privredu. Taylor, Ian, and Karen Smith. 2007. United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (unctad). Abingdon: Routledge. Tito, Josip Broz. 1963. Selected Speeches and Articles, 1941–1961. Zagreb: Ognjen Prica. Unkovski-Korica, Vladimir. 2016. The Economic Struggle for Power in Tito’s Yugoslavia: From World War II to Non-Alignment. London: I.B. Tauris. un. 1970. United Nations Document nv /209, 12 November 1970. Videkanić, Bojana. 2019. Nonaligned Modernism: Socialist Postcolonial Aesthetics in Yugoslavia, 1945–1985. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Vrhovec, Josip. 1983. “Tito-Yugoslavia-Non-Alignment.” In Non-Alignment, edited by Emil Pršil, 14–15. Zagreb: Spektar. Vučetić, Radina. 2017. “Tito’s Africa: Representation of Power during Tito’s African Journeys.” In Tito in Africa: Picturing Solidarity, edited by Radina Vučetić and Paul Betts, 13–45. Belgrade: Museum of Yugoslavia. Willetts, Peter. 1978. The Non-Aligned Movement: The Origins of a Third World Alliance. London: Frances Pinter. – 1981. The Non-Aligned in Havana. Documents of the Sixth Summit Conference and an Analysis of Their Significance for the Global Political System. London: Frances Pinter. Young, Robert J.C. 2018. “Disseminating the Tricontinental.” In The Routledge Handbook of the Global Sixties, 517–47. London: Routledge.

part one

Agency and Structure

1 Representing Women’s Non-Aligned Encounters: A View from Yugoslavia Chiara Bonfiglioli

Introduction The Non-Aligned Movement (nam) has been at the focus of renewed scholarly interest in recent years (Bott et al. 2015; Byrne 2016; Dinkel 2019; McDougall and Finnane 2010; Mišković, Fischer-Tine, and Boškovska 2017). The 1955 Bandung conference and Afro-Asian solidarity movements have also been the object of increasing scholarly research, alongside their connections with and differences from the more institutionalized nam (Afro-Asian Networks Research Collective 2018; Pham and Cilliam 2016; Lee 2010; Eslava, Fakhri, and Nesiah 2017; Vitalis 2013). The role of Yugoslavia in nam and its transnational connections with the Global South have also been increasingly scrutinized (Jakovina 2011; Rajak 2014; Oklopčić 2018). When it comes to transnational connections and encounters, nam is generally presented as a homosocial, performative phenomenon (Kilibarda 2010), while Yugoslav leaders’ solidarity with the Third World is being increasingly questioned through the prism of a critique of Eurocentrism (or “Yugocentrism”; Stubbs, this volume) and whiteness (Subotić and Vučetić 2019; Baker 2018). Women’s experience of and participation in non-alignment and the role of gender discourses has been only marginally explored in the most recent literature (Jain 2005; Jain and Chacko 2009). If we turn to women’s and gender history, however, transnational East-West, East-South, and South-South encounters have been increasingly addressed as a result of renewed interest in the transnational networks established through

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the Women’s International Democratic Federation (widf), the organization of reference for antifascist, communist, and socialist women in the Cold War period (De Haan 2012; Donert 2013). Scholars have underlined the solidarity between female activists across Cold War borders as well as the power differentials and tensions between Western, Eastern, and “Third World” women’s organizations (cf. Armstrong 2016; Bier 2011; 2020; Bonfiglioli 2012; Ghodsee 2019; Gradskova 2020). The case of Yugoslavia is a specific and significant one, given that, as a result of the Soviet-Yugoslav split of 1948, the representatives of the Antifascist Women’s Front (afž) were expelled from the widf in 1949. To overcome international isolation, Yugoslav representatives strived to establish their own bilateral connections with women’s organizations internationally, particularly in the Global South, from India to Indonesia, and from Sub-Saharan Africa to the Maghreb. In this chapter, building on my earlier work on women’s participation in nam and transnational non-aligned encounters between Yugoslavia and the Global South (Bonfiglioli 2016a, 2021), as well as on the circulation of transnational gendered imaginaries of citizenship via the widf (Bonfiglioli 2016b), I will explore the beginning of non-aligned connections by looking at official representations of encounters with African and Asian women between the mid-1950s and the mid-1960s, the first intensive period of non-aligned internationalist exchanges. This paper is based on the collection of the monthly periodical Žena u Borbi (Woman in the Struggle), renamed Žena (Woman) in 1957 and published by the Croatian branch of the Yugoslav state socialist women’s organization (sžd or Union of Women’s Societies, 1953–1961, and kdaž or Conference for the Social Activity of Women from 1961 onwards). Gendered and racialized representations of African and Asian female leaders and women’s organizations in official Yugoslav publications targeting a female readership were certainly part of overall Yugoslav “performances of political solidarity” (Subotić and Vučetić 2017), aiming at increasing the status of Yugoslavia worldwide. These representations partook in what Baker (2018, 94) defines as “transnational formations of race” during state socialism and contributed to building Yugoslavia’s “ambiguous” geopolitical stance in relation to the Global South (Baker 2018, 109). If we assume that Yugoslav women were adopting a merely Eurocentric/Yugocentric or culturally superior position in their transnational encounters, however, we fail to capture the full transnational significance of the new gendered imaginaries of modernization

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and utopia that circulated via the widf and non-aligned networks as a result of the “cultural Cold War” between East and West and its extension to the Third World. Such imaginaries generated new gendered pedagogies oriented towards the emancipation of rural and illiterate women at the national level (Bonfiglioli 2016b, 2019) and also created new modernizing discourses of sisterhood and transnational identification, not just in East-South but also in South-South transnational encounters, as in the case of Egyptian women’s encounters with other activists from the Global South (Bier 2011), or in the case of solidarity networks between Indian and Chinese women (Nasser 2021). Even if a certain racial blindness (Baker 2018) can be related to Yugoslavia’s moderate stances in relation to anticolonial armed struggles and alliances that challenged the hegemony of non-alignment (Stubbs, this volume), race or “racialism” was not the sole category of analysis even in the case of anticolonial movements and newly decolonized states in the Global South (Vitalis 2013). Women’s unprecedented participation in national liberation movements, as well as “state feminism,” associated with a belief in “developmental modernization” (Appadurai, quoted in Kilibarda 2010), characterized not just state socialist regimes but also postcolonial states (Taha 2017), generating new forms of subjectivity and new gendered imaginaries of citizenship among female activists, including those placed dangerously and ambivalently close to state power, such as Jovanka Broz (Hozić 2016). Global socialist (state) feminism, rather than postsocialist feminism, seems to be the real “missing other” of transnational feminism (see Bonfiglioli and Ghodsee 2020 in response to Tlostanova, Thapar-Björkert, and Koobak 2019). In this chapter, therefore, I explore how Yugoslav encounters with non-aligned female subjects were represented: encounters with prominent female leaders in the Global South, with activists from state-sponsored women’s organizations emerging from anticolonial struggles, and with female students from nam countries residing in Yugoslavia.

Setting the Scene: From Aligned to Non-Aligned To understand Yugoslav women’s involvement in nam, it is important to retrace a few historical landmark events, notably Yugoslav women’s involvement in the foundation of the widf during the 1945 Paris congress and their

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subsequent expulsion from the organization in 1949 as a result of the SovietYugoslav split. Between 1945 and 1948, the afž was hailed as one of the most prominent founding branches of the widf, after its creation in Paris at the end of November 1945. During the Congress at la Maison de la Mutualité, the Yugoslav delegation was widely acclaimed for its successful antifascist resistance while a widf statement expressed congratulations on the foundation of the new Yugoslav Republic. In her article for the official newspaper Borba (subsequently translated into French), Mitra Mitrović (1945) reported that Yugoslav representatives had been very engaged and “occupied an important place during the Congress” so much so that Yugoslav struggles and results obtained were “quoted as an example by the antifascist women of the whole world.” Yugoslav activists were obviously aspiring to be an example for neighbouring countries: “the Balkan and Central European countries wait for our help and see us as a powerful support, thanks to the experience and the force of our movement, and thanks to the democracy being built in our country, as the delegates from all neighbouring countries have declared to us.” (Mitrović 1945) The idea that the afž, strong in its grassroots resistance movement and in its declared membership of three million women, could be not just a dutiful follower of Soviet gender policies but a regional model of revolutionary organizing in its own right is confirmed by the widf request for Yugoslav representatives to serve as an intermediary between Paris and women’s organizations in the rest of the Balkans (De Barry 1945). Yugoslav leaders’ display of revolutionary superiority left a mark among communist activists in Trieste and in Italy more generally (Bonfiglioli 2012). The Yugoslavs’ prominence within the widf was such that the widf was planning to hold its second Congress in Belgrade before this plan was cut short in 1948 by the Soviet-Yugoslav split. It is not surprising, therefore, that Yugoslav representatives were genuinely outraged when facing expulsion from the widf in 1949, which cast into doubt the representativeness of the entire Yugoslav government and of Yugoslav female leaders. With this expulsion, Yugoslav activists, previously revered, suddenly became completely isolated in the field of women’s internationalism. The widf, in fact, was the main transnational organization of reference for antifascist, anti-imperialist, and left-wing women’s organizations. It was also the first transnational organization to establish connections with delegates in the Global South and to voice a condemnation of colonialism since the late 1940s, even if the voices of

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women from the Global South were not always equally represented in widf decision-making (De Haan 2012; Gradskova 2019). The widf was also at the forefront of anti-imperialism, as it organized the first all-female transnational commission of investigation into US and un atrocities in Korea, causing the organization to be expelled from Paris and to relocate in East Berlin in 1951 (Donert 2016; Kim 2020). Yugoslav representatives did not accept the widf decision passively. They immediately organized a series of mass meetings across Yugoslavia and also sent a wide array of published material to women’s organizations affiliated with the widf to emphasize the unfairness of their expulsion. Multilingual publications became a strong asset of Yugoslav women’s internationalism, mirroring official Yugoslav diplomacy in its attempt to overcome international isolation. As Mitra Mitrović (1949) explained, “we should not forget that in the leadership bodies of democratic women’s organizations there are certainly a lot of women who disagree with the actions of their representatives in the Federation, but [information about] the facts and our materials are not yet available to them.” The Yugoslav representatives’ pride was finally vindicated in 1956, when, as a result of the process of destalinization, the widf congress in Beijing unanimously annulled the decision to expel Yugoslavia, which was recognized as “unjust.” By then, the country had established solid bilateral relations with Asian and African countries within the framework of the NonAligned Movement (Bonfiglioli 2021) so that Yugoslav activists declined the invitation to join the widf once again, as they still perceived it as too aligned with the Soviet bloc (blokovska organizacija). Instead, they preferred to attend widf congresses as external observers, stressing that they were interested only in ad hoc cooperation on matters of national interest, following the principles of “self-determination” and “national paths to socialism.” In their response to the offer to rejoin the widf, they stated: “The Union of Women’s Societies of Yugoslavia considers that the problem of women’s equality is still directly tied up with the struggle for social progress and that it can be solved in different ways according to the specific conditions of each country. For this reason, progressive women’s organizations in every country should seek the best ways and means of settling those questions and deciding on methods of action and international co-operation” (Les Nouvelles Yougoslaves, 1956). The Yugoslav presence at widf congresses, even if it was a critical one, meant that they could benefit from widf’s increasingly dense networks in

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the developing world, alongside their own bilateral connections. A report about the international activities of the Union of Women’s Societies of Yugoslavia (sžd), which replaced the afž in 1953, explicitly indicated that Yugoslav women had an interest in cooperating with the widf in view of the fact that many women’s organizations from Africa, Asia, and Latin America were joining the widf and bringing a fresh perspective within it (sždj 1960). Yugoslav women explicitly mentioned the possibility of reaching other women’s organizations in the developing world through widf networks (see Bonfiglioli 2016a and 2021 for a reconstruction of such connections up until the un Decade for Women). In the next sections I will explore the gendered representation of early non-aligned encounters in Žena u Borbi/Žena and the ways in which these reflected Yugoslav activists’ subjectivities and modernization discourses, as well as broader Yugoslav aspirations in international politics.

The Freedom Fighters Next Door: Representations of Female Leadership The first reported transnational encounters in Žena u Borbi are with women from India, whose role in the non-aligned thinking was extremely prominent in the mid-1950s. One of the first reports addresses the visit of the sister of Jawaharlal Nehru, Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit (1900–1990), India’s ambassador to the ussr, the US, and Mexico between 1947 and 1951 and the first woman president of the United Nations General Assembly in 1953. Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit led the first fact-finding mission to Yugoslavia in summer 1954. The magazine reported her visit in detail and emphasized her position as president of the un General Assembly and her satisfaction at Yugoslavia’s respect for un principles. The article was accompanied by quality photographs which emphasized the elegance and femininity of the guest. Allegedly, Mrs Pandit stated that “Yugoslavia has a great importance in Europe, as India has it in Asia,” and argued that diplomatic visits should be accompanied by exchanges between students, cultural workers, journalists, agricultural experts, and ordinary citizens (Žena u borbi 1954a). In 1955, this was followed by the visit of Nehru himself, together with his daughter Indira Gandhi, who was given a

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volume on women’s participation in the liberation movement as a present (Žena u borbi 1955). The reports on India continued in the 1950s and 1960s, and also included frequent references to Kamala, Nehru’s prematurely deceased wife, who had also been a strenuous fighter for Indian independence (Žena 1959a). The romanticized love story between Nehru and Kamala must have seemed particularly appealing for the readers, given that it was published once again to commemorate Nehru’s death in 1967 (Žena 1967b). Such connections paved the way to further exchanges with India during the un Decade for Women, mainly carried out by Partisan and politician Vida Tomšicˇ (Bonfiglioli 2021). As a result of destalinization, the magazine Žena published occasional reports on women in the socialist bloc, but non-aligned women’s organizations received much greater attention when it comes to international relations from the late 1950s onwards. A particularly fascinating look into non-alignment comes from a series of reports that follow the travels of Jovanka Broz, Tito’s wife, who accompanied the Yugoslav president on his diplomatic missions across the world. The magazine reported her travels with Tito to several countries, including Indonesia, Ceylon, Ethiopia, Togo, Guinea, Morocco, and Tunisia, between 1959 and 1961 (Žena 1959b, 1961b, 1961c). The tone was direct and personal, as in this opening passage from 1959, which enticed readers to partake in Jovanka’s travels: “On behalf of the editorial board of Žena, comrade Beba Krajačić asked comrade Jovanka Broz that she narrates some of her impressions from the trip that brought our President Tito to Indonesia and other friendly countries in Asia and Africa. Comrade Jovanka happily accepted the invitation to share with readers some of her impressions of that far away, tiresome trip, which also made it unforgettable” (Žena 1959b). It is interesting to see that the trip is presented as tiresome rather than glamorous so as to emphasize Jovanka’s (and Tito’s) hard work for Yugoslav citizens. The possibility of discussing transnational women’s issues while travelling also provided Jovanka with additional status and authority. As noted by Hozić (2016, 99), Jovanka Broz “often spoke on behalf of Yugoslav women’s organizations – and reached out to their counterparts on her travels, even though she was not officially their representative.” For each country visited by Tito and Jovanka, there were detailed accounts of legislation concerning women, of women’s struggles in liberation movements, and accounts

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of the formation of new women’s organizations. These reports were accompanied by photographs of Jovanka and representatives of local women’s organizations displaying their modern, feminine outfits alongside more “maternalistic” images of the Yugoslav first lady meeting schoolchildren and visiting local institutions. The identification between Yugoslav women’s participation in the liberation struggle and Asian and African women’s fight for liberation was especially prominent. Jovanka’s Partisan background, notably, facilitated such “mirroring” between the Yugoslav antifascist struggle and the many anticolonial struggles across the world. In the 1959 account of Jovanka’s trip to Indonesia, we read for instance: “The women of Indonesia took part massively in the struggle for liberation as fighters, nurses, social workers and illegal workers in clandestine conditions. Many died courageously, and some received military awards. Today they are part of different organizations, all affiliated to Cowani, Kongres Wanita Indonesia or the Indonesian Women’s Congress” (Žena 1959b). Such a description could be easily applied to Yugoslav women and to the foundation of the Antifascist Women’s Front during the Second World War. A similar parallel was established by Hartini, one of the wives of President Sukarno, when she visited Zagreb in 1960. She stated: “The women of Indonesia actively took part in the struggle for the liberation of their country, and for the preservation of its independence. Like the women of Yugoslavia, we had a significant role in mobilizing the popular forces against foreign powers, which ruled our country for many decades” (Žena 1960c). Such armed mobilization, however, was largely absent from a visual perspective (even in the case of Algerian female Partisans’ accounts), and the accent was on former Partisans and freedom fighters now being engaged in political work for their respective countries, displaying the qualities of the girl or woman “next door,” namely beauty, modesty, and femininity. The domestication of women’s Partisan struggles and the reinstatement of bourgeois gender norms (also reflected in the monthly name change, from “Woman in the Struggle” to “Woman”) was characteristic of the 1950s Yugoslav women’s press (Stojaković 2012). Women who had been active in liberation movements were among the chief delegates when it came to a major international conference organized on 19–21 April 1961 in Zagreb, five months before the well-known Belgrade summit, which marked the official founding of the Non-Aligned Movement

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and the proclamation of its principles of “peaceful and active coexistence.” Since the event happened shortly after the murder of Patrice Lumumba in Congo, his wife Pauline Lumumba was invited as a guest of honour, and so were Algerian activists, who thanked Yugoslav women for their material support during the liberation struggle. Women from the socialist bloc also hailed the example of Cuba, having just experienced the failed Bay of Pigs invasion a few days earlier. The magazine Žena (1961a) also published an interview with delegates from Northern and Southern Rhodesia and Uganda, then still under colonial domination. These were Margaret Mbeba (North Rhodesia), Tane Ngwenya (South Rhodesia), and Damali Kanyike (Uganda). They denounced the continuous material exploitation of natural resources and racial segregation under colonialism as well as the political repression faced by liberation movements. The portraits of these three women and the accounts of their struggle follow the eyewitness account format, with some “maternalist” notes emphasizing the femininity of the guests. Tane, for instance, is described as a “modest” girl who misses her mother very much during her trip and buys some teacups as a present for her, carefully wrapping them to take them home intact. In the end, the three of them thanked the Yugoslav organization and were said to be grateful to Yugoslavia for understanding so deeply all freedom fighters in the world. In parallel with the 1961 Non-Aligned Belgrade summit, a map was published in Žena, showing the number of formerly colonial countries who had managed to achieve independence. This map was compared with a world map from 1941 to highlight the global character of decolonization. Representations of female leadership at the highest levels, similarly, contain a mixture of modernization discourse and a reinstatement of gender norms, particularly when it comes to an article discussing the election of Sirimavo Bandaraike, the first female prime minister in the world and also the first to be a minister of interior and defence (Žena 1960e). Written by a male journalist of diplomatic history, Ivo Mihovilović, the article noted the emergence of Asian female leaders on the political scene, starting with Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit and Indira Gandhi. He stressed that it would be wrong to think that Bandaranaike became president only as a result of the assassination of her husband and president, Solomon. Instead, she had great personal qualities and managed to navigate Sri Lanka’s political crisis better than men. Nonetheless, it was underlined that before her husband’s assassination, Sirimavo was

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not politically engaged but was rather a “discrete collaborator” of her husband, as “she didn’t want to stand out too much.” She was also a “model wife” who personally took care of raising her three children. While gender norms were easily restated, a few tensions relating to class and colonialism remained when it came to the politician’s biography, requiring the author’s editorial intervention. Bandaranaike’s father, a former colonial officer and rich plantation owner, was reportedly not “oblivious to social injustice,” whereas her private education at the St Bridget’s Convent in Colombo, with the Irish Sisters of the Good Shepherd attempting to turn pupils into “Europeans,” was portrayed as unsuccessful, given that the Sri Lankan leader remained a Buddhist and thus did not comply with the local nuns’ conversion attempts. To sum up, the author concluded, Sirimavo Bandaranaike was a model of contemporary Asian femininity, “which in her person combined the best of great tradition and old civilization with the spirit of modern times.” Interestingly, Bandaranaike remained connected to Yugoslavia until the end of her life, corresponding with Vida Tomšicˇ and visiting Yugoslavia for spa therapies until the 1980s (Bonfiglioli 2021).

Women’s Organizations between Revolution and Institutionalization Yugoslav activists could easily identify with activists from the Global South not only due to their common experience as revolutionary and freedom fighters but also due to their similar efforts in emancipating women in new postcolonial states. Women’s struggles for their political, social, and economic rights, and their attempt to overcome conservative religious norms and illiteracy, was part and parcel of this modernization effort in the 1950s and 1960s, and Yugoslav activists frequently exchanged impressions with activists from the Global South concerning legal obstacles to women’s equality and ongoing challenges to women’s emancipation and modernization. Issues related to Islam and Sharia Law were specifically of interest to Yugoslav women, given that Yugoslavia itself banned the full veil in those Republics with Ottoman heritage between the late 1940s and the early 1950s (Bonfiglioli 2012; Simić 2018). A 1954 article focused on women’s movements in Egypt, with the Orientalizing subtitle “from the harem to politics,” mentioned the first move-

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ments to get rid of the veil in the 1920s and argued that “even if the current status of women in Egypt cannot be compared to that of women in Central Europe, there has been nonetheless a rapid improvement in a short space of time” (Žena u borbi 1954b). The article reported the work of notable activist Duriyya Shafiq, educated at the Sorbonne in France and president of the association Bent el Nila (Daughter of the Nile), which had seven thousand members. Shafiq was strenuous in her defence of women’s rights and managed to obtain women’s suffrage in 1956 (with the proviso of being literate, which was not required of men despite the fact that 85 per cent of male voters were illiterate). She did this by storming the Egyptian parliament with one thousand women in 1951 and after a prolonged hunger strike in 1954. Her radicalism was not tolerated by Nasser, who put her under house arrest in 1957 after she undertook a second hunger strike in the Indian embassy to protest the regime’s authoritarianism (Bier 2011; Taha 2017). Shafiq’s look was described as “quite different from the type of woman we imagine when we hear of a fighter for women’s rights. Young, charming, extremely elegant and very feminine, she does not lag behind even the most dynamic of men in terms of wit, fighting spirit and engagement” (Žena u borbi 1954b). Such description points at the tensions raised by women’s movements in Yugoslavia itself, which were under constant threat of being labelled as “feminist,” that is, as deviating from the struggle for socialism and engaging in an unfeminine struggle against men, as the allegedly “bourgeois” movement of the interwar period (Sklevickly 1989). Yugoslav reports, moreover, were keen to emphasize Third World activists’ difference from bourgeois Western feminism when it came to women’s organizing. In the case of Shafiq, for instance, it was noted that she was aware that her people could not “copycat” European culture and that she was not against Islam per se but rather against “the traditions which prevent progress.” Another 1957 report on women’s movements in Egypt, Lebanon, and Syria was critical of existing feminist movements, notably those that had taken inspiration from the West. In the case of Egypt, the gap between new legislation and existing practices on the ground was mentioned, with an emphasis on the discrimination of women in the labour market. It was noted, for instance, that the Egyptian National Bank only accepted unmarried women as employees, or that women’s participation in trade unions in Egypt was particularly weak despite fifteen thousand of them being employed. Egyptian feminist

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movements were seen more as a problem than a solution when it came to the plight of working women, given that they had allegedly been founded by upper-class women who had taken inspiration from the West. Ultimately, concluded the author: “when analysing Arab women’s fight for equality one has to pay attention to the special conditions in which these women have been living for centuries; for this reason their struggles and achievements cannot be measured by our usual standards. Beside this, the case of Egypt shows that there are no significant results when it comes to women’s liberation and equality if a specific feminist movement is formed. Instead, such fight must go hand in hand with broader national movements for progress and liberation from backwardness and exploitation” (Žena 1957a). This statement mirrored the discourse of Yugoslav women’s organizations themselves, which were keen to stress the primacy of class over gender and the importance of women’s mass organizing in cooperation with political parties and state institutions. Alongside the primacy of class analysis over gender, what Yugoslavia also promoted in its diplomatic agenda was economic independence through industrialization and modernization, as shown by recent research on Yugoslav companies’ commercial exchanges with non-aligned countries (Sekulić 2017; Spaskovska and Calori 2021). The building of industries, streets, and welfare infrastructures such as hospitals and schools and the expansion of education were all seen as crucial means to achieve political and economic independence. Women’s organizations were embedded in this effort of reconstruction and modernization, both in Yugoslavia and in non-aligned countries. This was common to the transnational generation of communist and socialist activists who founded women’s organizations in the aftermath of the Second World War and in the early Cold War era (Bonfiglioli 2020). That is why many accounts in Žena detail Yugoslav representatives’ visits to local orphanages, clinics, schools, and newly build institutions. During her trip to West Africa and North Africa, for instance, Jovanka visited a nursing school for women in Ghana, an orphanage in Morocco, and a women’s weaving cooperative in Tunisia (Žena 1961b, 1961c). In turn, when foreign guests were welcomed in Yugoslavia, they were often taken to see similar sites in Zagreb or Belgrade or in smaller centres. In 1960, future kdaž president Marija Šoljan published an extensive report of her visit to India as a guest of the All India Women’s Conference. She vis-

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ited rural training centres for social workers (Gram Sevika), which taught women domestic economy tasks such as budgeting, home organization, healthy nutrition, and the like. She visited women’s cooperatives, family planning centres, and a variety of schools in the countryside. She also discussed issues of poverty, lack of female schooling, caste discrimination, and the conflict between modern and traditional beliefs about women’s social position (Žena 1960a, 1960b). Interviews and reports about women’s organizations in the Global South were also very much focused on the creation of new institutions during the process of decolonization. An interview with Egyptian activist Fatma Enan, for instance, detailed her effort to build a crèche for the women employed as teachers in a Cairo female grammar school she directed (Žena 1960d), while an interview with midwife and leading political activist Aoua Keita (Turrittin 1993) discussed her country’s effort to build schools and welfare institutions and to recruit qualified experts for the modernization project in Mali (Žena 1965b). Institutional thinking in view of overall social modernization was also part of Yugoslavia’s strategy at the un. The resolution of social and economic issues was at the core of Vida Tomšicˇ’s mission in the Commission for Social Development of the Economic and Social Council (ecosoc), on which she represented Yugoslavia in 1960–1963 and 1971–1974 and which she chaired in 1963. A report on Yugoslav delegates’ activism in ecosoc at the time noted that social policies were key to citizens’ well-being and that many socialist countries might have had a lower gdp but were faring far better than richer countries when it came to issues of schooling, health, social welfare, and housing; that is, living standards in general (Žena 1961d). The articles published in Žena u Borbi/Žena clearly show a strong empirical orientation towards various experiments in the construction of welfare institutions across the world. Later on, during the un Decade for Women, Yugoslavia took a very active role in supporting the 1974 Declaration for a New International Economic Order (nieo) within the un General Assembly. Throughout the un Decade for Women, Yugoslav representatives openly sided with non-aligned and other developing countries in arguing that the achievement of women’s emancipation was dependent upon the transformation of relations of production across the world – and that women’s struggles should not be separated from wider political issues (Bonfiglioli 2016b, 2021; see also Ghodsee 2019).

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Non-Aligned Migrants: Afro-Asian Female Students and Experts in Yugoslavia African women’s movements occupied a less prominent position in the magazine than Asian or Middle Eastern movements. African women’s activism was mentioned for the first time in Žena in 1957. The magazine reported a discussion with male Ghanaian students of medicine, hosted in the student’s centre Ivo Lola Ribar in Belgrade. In his attempt to downplay the significance of racial differences, the author noted that these African students would not be distinguishable from other students if it weren’t for their “dark skin, prominent lips and curly hair” (Žena 1957b). After several years in Yugoslavia, they could master the language and retell their satisfaction at Ghana’s successful struggle for independence. They highlighted the solidarity expressed by Yugoslav students, which was not only the result of top-down political directives. The Yugoslav people, they allegedly stated, “are naturally loving all peoples equally and value their freedom and independence” (however, for a different account of Black students’ experiences of racism in Yugoslavia, see Lazić 2009). The role of women during Ghana’s independence struggle was also mentioned, especially their importance in Nkrumah’s liberation from prison, as well as ongoing struggles to fight female illiteracy. In the 1960s, African women were listed among non-aligned students and experts attending different kinds of courses in Yugoslavia. Women’s experience of non-aligned migration is very much neglected in popular memory, which tends to focus on male students from Africa and the Middle East studying as doctors, engineers, or dentists. A detailed report (Žena 1965a) on African and Middle Eastern students listed Faiza Dabluk from Kartum, Sudan, studying medicine, Olga Ogutu from Kenya, studying administration and management, Kospi Drora from Israel, studying naval engineering (who married a Yugoslav citizen and was the mother of a small baby), Bridget Mafike from Lesotho, then Basutoland, studying economics, and Jeannette Kounkar from Jordan, a student of pharmacy. Jeannette mentioned that her Yugoslav roommate in the student dorm married a colleague from Algiers. All the students emphasized the limited educational opportunities existing in their own countries and their need to specialize abroad. Another report (Žena 1967a) was

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dedicated to Kenyan girls who studied as typists thanks to un support. The first part of the article detailed the difficulties in achieving an education in newly independent Kenya and the rapidly evolving role of women in the private and the public sphere. Only one of the students had completed six years of schooling in Kenya, and only one had ever been employed – in a childcare facility. The second part of the article addressed the five students’ desires for career improvement and further education but also their attachment to their homeland, families, and friends. The author asked them to mention three words that were dearest to them, and family was always in first place, to signify that women retained their place as homemakers and mothers, even if they had further aspirations in terms of career and education. Such statements echoed the “working mother” gender contract typical of socialist Yugoslavia and other state socialist regimes, and the idea that women’s emancipation would mainly happen through education and employment while women’s role as caretakers and mothers would be modernized but nonetheless preserved within the family (Bonfiglioli 2019). A paradigmatic definition of women’s roles as citizens and mothers was included in the interview with Soerastri Karma Trimurti (Žena 1963), an economist and journalist from Indonesia who had also served as the country’s first labour minister from 1947 to 1948. Active in women’s and independence movements, Trimurti was the wife of activist Sayuti Melik, known as the typist of the Indonesian declaration of independence. The couple had two children. Trimurti spent three months in Yugoslavia in 1963 as the president of the National Planning Council, affiliated to the Ministry of Cooperatives, leading a team of thirty Indonesian experts who specialized in various fields. After an amicable discussion with fellow journalist Marija Erbežnik-Fuk on the different women’s organizations existing in Indonesia and their achievements in the field of social work and education, Trimurti was asked about her aspirations and preoccupations as a woman. She replied with her “wish list” of a minimum to which every woman should strive for: “First of all, to be a good citizen, then a good ‘mom’ and a good wife. In order to be able to realize such life conceptions, she must not live and work only for herself, she must learn how to raise her children in that direction. A good woman knows (she moves her hands as if holding a steering wheel!) how to manage her home, to organize

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life in it for everything she decides, which also includes choosing a good husband. All these requirements aren’t easy, as they entail responsibility, but are the minimum required in life.” Trimurti’s wish list undoubtedly spoke to Yugoslav activists, who were also trying to combine their engagement in the public sphere with family responsibilities, and who were often married to fellow party members and activists. As Woodward noted, the “working mother” gender contract ideal reflected the gendered norms typical of the educated middle class in Yugoslavia. This dual breadwinner family model “was foreign to much of the population, although closer perhaps to the small, urban, nuclear family of many policymakers or to the marriages of political and revolutionary comrades during the war or the radical days immediately preceding it” (Woodward 1985, 50). The representations of female leaders, activists, and experts from nam countries in the Yugoslav press reproduced this vision of a good citizen and a good wife and mother at a transnational level, highlighting the global circulation of gendered imaginaries of citizenship for a transnational generation of Cold War female activists (Bonfiglioli 2015, 2020).

Conclusion This chapter has addressed the representation of female leaders, women’s organizations, and female students and experts from non-aligned countries in the monthly magazine Žena u Borbi (Woman in the Struggle), renamed Žena (Woman) in 1957 and published by the Croatian branch of the Yugoslav state socialist women’s organization (sžd/kdaž). The magazine can be taken as a representative source (Sklevicky 1996), indicative of public discourses produced by Yugoslav state socialist women’s organizations and of the gendered imaginaries of citizenship they circulated across the country. While “race” does not appear to be a salient category of analysis in these reports, the prism of national self-determination is undoubtedly a very relevant one. Equally important are modernizing discourses about women’s emancipation in the public sphere, which, however, do not fundamentally challenge prevailing gender norms in the private sphere. In Yugoslavia, as in the Global South, female leaders were expected to successfully combine productive and reproductive work, while the same expectations did not apply to male leaders.

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A certain ambivalence can be sensed in the reports when it comes to Third World female leaders such as Sirimavo Bandaranaike or feminists such as Duryya Shafiq, with the Yugoslav authors keen to reassert that their public duties did not detract from their femininity and dedication to the family. A similar attachment to the family and the homeland is reproduced in the portraits of African and Middle Eastern female students and experts visiting Yugoslavia. This reinstatement of gender norms should not be read, however, solely as the imposition of socialist “state patriarchy” (Miroiu 2007) but also as a legitimizing strategy for Yugoslav women’s organizations to avoid the dreaded “feminist” label, as well as a way to speak to a diversified readership of working- and middle-class women. By portraying Third World female activists as approachable girls “next door,” the reports made possible for Yugoslav readers to identify with women’s struggles across the world. Through Jovanka’s travel diaries, moreover, readers could also follow Tito and his wife in their “long and tiresome” travels in favour of world peace. Women’s revolutionary and anticolonial struggles, while “domesticated,” were nonetheless seen as a fundamental component of national selfdetermination, and women’s mass organizations were perceived as having a key role in fostering economic and social development. Due to their grassroots Partisan movement and efforts to reconstruct a devastated country after the Second World War, Yugoslav activists could identify with both the national liberation movement in the Global South and the struggle for political and economic self-determination experienced by women’s organizations in newly decolonized countries. As a result of Yugoslavia’s specific position vis-à-vis the Soviet bloc, and of Yugoslav activists’ critical attitude towards the widf, Third World women’s struggles were documented in detail and understood in relation to each nation’s specific political, social, and cultural setting, given that the “national paths to socialism” extended to struggles for women’s rights, which had to be adapted to each country’s national context. In the 1950s and 1960s, global (state) feminism seemed to be the answer for many activists engaged first in revolution and then in stateled reform, both in socialist countries and in the Global South. This emphasis on “national machineries” dedicated to women’s emancipation reached its peak during the un Decade for Women (1975–1985), when various non-aligned summits and expert meetings were dedicated to women and development (Jain 2005), even if the movement by then had lost most

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of its strength, and even if a new generation of second wave feminist activists was already pointing at the limit of state-sponsored women’s emancipation (Bonfiglioli 2020). The idea that socialist modernization, economic development, and women’s participation in the public sphere could help overcoming class, gender, and race divides was obviously not uncontested but was shared to a certain extent by a transnational generation of left-wing female leaders in Yugoslavia and in the Global South.

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Bandung.” In Meanings of Bandung: Postcolonial Orders and Decolonial Visions, edited by Quynh N. Pham and Robbie Shilliam, 95–100. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Tre a strana Hladnog rata. Zagreb: Fraktura. Jain, Devaki. 2005. Women, Development and the un: A Sixty-Year Quest for Equality and Justice. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Jain, Devaki, and Shuba Chacko. 2009. “Walking Together: the Journey of the Non-Aligned Movement and the Women’s Movement.” Development in Practice 19 (7): 895–905. Kilibarda, Konstantin. 2010. “Non-Aligned Geographies in the Balkans: Space, Race and Image in the Construction of new ‘European’ Foreign Policies.” In Security Beyond the Discipline: Emerging Dialogues on Global Politics, edited by Abhinava Kumar and Derek Maisonville, 27–57. Toronto: York University Centre for International and Security Studies. Kim, Taewoo. 2020. “Frustrated Peace: Investigatory Activities by the Commission of the Women’s International Democratic Federation (widf) in North Korea during the Korean War.” Sungkyun Journal of East Asian Studies 20 (1): 83–112. Lazić, Milorad. 2009. “Neki problemi stranih studenata na jugoslovenskim univerzitetima šezdesetih godina XX veka, s posebnim osvrtom na afričke studente.” Godišnjak za društvenu istoriju 2:61–78. Lee, Christopher. 2010. Making a World After Empire: The Bandung Moment and Its Political Afterlives. Athens: Ohio University Press. Nasser, Yasser Ali. 2021. “Finding ‘Asia’ After Imperialism: Transnational Visions of the ‘Asian Woman’ in China and India, 1949–1955.” Twentieth Century China 46 (1): 62–82. Les Nouvelles Yougoslaves. Paris, 5 November 1956. Translated into English in the widf journal Women of the Whole World, no. 12 (December) 1956. McDougall, Derek, and Finnane, Antonia, eds. 2010. Bandung 1955: Little Histories. Caulfield, au: Monash University Press. Miroiu, Mihaela. 2007. “Communism Was a State Patriarchy, not a State Feminism.” Aspasia 1:197–201. Misković, Nataša, Harald Fischer-Tiné, and Nada Boškovska. 2014. The NonAligned Movement and the Cold War: Delhi-Bandung-Belgrade. London: Routledge. Mitrović, Mitra. 1945. “Importance d’une union démocratique des femmes du monde entier.” Arhiv Jugoslavije, Belgrade, collection 141, box 17, folder 386.

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– 1949. “Afž i Međunarodni Demokratski Pokret Žena. Referat drugarice Mitra Mitrović,” Arhiv Jugoslavije, Belgrade, collection 141, box 7, folder 414. Oklopčić, Zoran. 2018. “Redeeming the Triple Struggle? The Yugoslav Accounts of Non-Alignment.” In Bandung at Sixty: Critical Pasts and Pending Futures, edited by Luis Eslava, Michael Fakhri, and Vasuki Nesiah, 276–92. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pham, Quynh N., and Shilliam, Robbie, eds. 2016. Meanings of Bandung: Postcolonial Orders and Decolonial Visions. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Rajak, Svetozar. 2014. “No Bargaining Chips, No Spheres of Interest: The Yugoslav Origins of Cold War Non-Alignment.” Journal of Cold War Studies 16 (1): 146–79. Sekulić, Dubravka. 2017. “Energoprojekt in Nigeria: Yugoslav Construction Companies in the Developing World.” Southeastern Europe 41 (2): 200–29. Sklevicky, Lydia. 1996. Konji, Žene, Ratovi. Zagreb: Ženska Infoteka. – 1989. “Emancipated Integration or Integrated Emancipation: The Case of PostRevolutionary Yugoslavia.” In Current Issues in Women’s History, edited by Arina Angerman, Geerte Binnema, Annemieke Keunen, Vefie Poels, and Jacqueline Zirkzee, 93–108. London: Routledge. Simić, Ivan. 2018. Soviet Influences on Postwar Yugoslav Gender Policies. London: Palgrave. Spaskovska, Ljubica, and Anna Calori. 2021. “A Nonaligned Business World: The Global Socialist Enterprise between Self-Management and Transnational Capitalism.” Nationalities Papers 49 (3): 413–27. Stojaković, Gordana. 2012. Rodna perspektiva novina Antifašističkog fronta žena (1945–1953). Novi Sad: Zavod za ravnopravnost polova. Subotić, Jelena, and Vučetić, Srdjan. 2019. “Performing Solidarity: Whiteness and Status-Seeking in the Non-Aligned World.” Journal of International Relations and Development 22 (3): 722–43 sždj (Union of Women’s Societies of Yugoslavia). 1960. “Informativni Bilten o Radu Inostranih Ženskih Organizacija i Međunarodnim Vezama sždj,” December 1960, Hrvatski Državni Arhiv, Zagreb, collection 1234–5, box 71, folder 2697a. Taha, Mai. 2017. “Reimagining Bandung for Women at Work in Egypt: Law and the Woman Between the Factory and the ‘Social Factory.’” In Bandung at Sixty: Critical Pasts and Pending Futures, edited by Luis Eslava, Michael Fakhri, and Vasuki Nesiah, 337–54. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tlostanova, Madina, Suruchi Thapar-Björkert, and Redi Koobak. 2019. “The PostSocialist ‘Missing Other’ of Transnational Feminism?” Feminist Review 121: 81–7.

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Turritin, Jane. 1993. “Aoua Kéita and the Nascent Women’s Movement in the French Soudan.” African Studies Review 36 (1): 59–89. Vitalis, Robert. 2013. “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung (Bandoong).” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 4 (2): 261–88. Woodward, Susan L. 1985. “The Rights of Women: Ideology, Policy and Social Change in Yugoslavia.” In Women, State and Party in Eastern Europe edited by Sharon L. Wolchik and Alfred G. Meyer, 234–56. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Žena u borbi. 1954a. “Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit,” 8. Žena u borbi. 1954b. “Ženski pokret u Egiptu. Iz harema u politiku,” 8. Žena u borbi. 1955. “Indijski gosti u nasoj zemlji,” 8. Žena. 1957a. “Oslobodjenje Arapske žene,” 5–6. Žena. 1957b. “Medju drugovima. Razgvor sa studentima iz Gane,” 7. Žena. 1959a. “Kamala Nehru,” 2 Žena, 1959b. “Utisci Jovanke Broz s puta po zemljiama Azije i Afrike,” 4 Žena 1960a. “Indijka,” 4. Žena 1960b. “Nema carskog druma do uspijeha,” 5 Žena. 1960c. “Prijateljski susret,” 5. Žena. 1960d. “Egipćanka,” 6. Žena. 1960e. “Jedna žena postala je presjednik vlade,” 9. Žena. 1961a. “Delegati Sjeverne i Južne Rodezije i Ugande pričaju o svojoj zemlji,” 6. Žena. 1961b. “Nezaboravni susreti Jovanke Broz s ženama Gane, Gvineje i Togoa … ” 7. Žena. 1961c. “Kroz razgovor s Jovankom Broz lik Marokanke i Tunižanke … ” 8–9. Žena. 1961d. “Socijalna politika nije kućna pomočnica,” 10. Žena. 1963. “Trimurti Sajuti Melik. Ozbiljan i srdačan pogled … ” 2. Žena 1965a. “Pet priča iz Afrike i Bliskog Istoka,” 4. Žena 1965b. “Ava Keita: Mjesto Maljike u slobodi,” 7. Žena 1967a. “Tri najdraže riječi. Susret s djevojkama iz Kenije,” 2. Žena 1967b. “Nehru i Kamala,” 7.

2 The Foundations of the Non-Aligned Movement: The Trouble with History Is That It Is All in the Past Peter Willetts

Introduction For a political scientist, there are four problems with the way history is interpreted. One is the desire to increase the legitimacy of current institutions and of current political ideologies by giving them roots far back into the past. A second, related, problem is the selection of facts about the past or even the creation of myths about the past that do not have a factual basis with the intention of influencing current political debates. The third problem is the tendency to overemphasize the role of great leaders and the failure to place them in the context of the institutions and societies that they led. The fourth problem is the simple prejudice that history is about putting the facts in order. This can lead, implicitly or explicitly, to the false argument post hoc, ergo propter hoc (events occurred “after this, therefore because of this”). These problems with the invocation of history often distort what is claimed to be the history of the Non-Aligned Movement (nam). Applying such arguments to nam, we should ask: When and why was nam created as a new institution? Which leaders promoted or sought to prevent the development of the institution and in what contexts were they operating? What has been the nature of its membership, what institutional structures were created, and what values has it sought to sustain? The orthodox history of nam is that it had its roots in the Asian-African conference held in Bandung on 18–24 April 1955, which led to cooperation between Prime Minister Jawaharlal Nehru of India, President Josip Broz Tito

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of Yugoslavia, President Kwame Nkrumah of Ghana, President Gamal Abdel Nasser of the United Arab Republic, and President Sukarno of Indonesia. The five leaders are then credited with being the founders of the Movement. The Bandung conference provided a historical context to the development of an ideology of non-alignment, but did the conference promote the same values or have any institutional links to the creation of the Movement? Were the five leaders actually the founders of the nam? What follows is an assessment of each of these historical questions.

The Bandung Conference as a Historical Context The Bandung conference was convened by five Asian governments: Burma, Ceylon (now called Sri Lanka), India, Pakistan, and Indonesia. There were representatives from twenty-nine countries, twenty-three from Asia and six from Africa. The conference expressed bicontinental unity and virtually all governments of whatever political complexion were invited. There were three exceptions: Israel, South Africa, and the Republic of China (Taiwan). Israel was unacceptable to Arab governments, South Africa was unacceptable to the Indians and the Africans, and Taiwan would have offended communist China. The sponsors of the conference had to make a choice over China, and they could not bring together nearly all of Asia unless the People’s Republic was present. Apart from the “two Chinas” problem, bicontinentalism came through in the way the participation overcame Cold War divisions. Both North Vietnam and South Vietnam attended, but not North and South Korea. Turkey, a member of nato, and Pakistan, the Philippines, and Thailand, members of another Western alliance, the South East Asia Treaty Organization (seato), sat alongside communist China. In addition, the Baghdad Pact between Turkey and Iraq was signed in February 1955, as an anti-Soviet military alliance, and later in the same year, after the Bandung conference, the uk, Pakistan, and Iran joined the alliance. It became the Central Treaty Organization (cento). Thus, in the middle of the Cold War, two communist governments and seven Western allies were present at Bandung. The conference is best known for the section of the communiqué calling for friendly cooperation on the basis of the following principles:

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1. Respect for fundamental human rights and for the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations. 2. Respect for the sovereignty and territorial integrity of all nations. 3. Recognition of the equality of all races and of the equality of all nations, large and small. 4. Abstention from intervention or interference in the internal affairs of another country. 5. Respect for the right of each nation to defend itself singly or collectively, in conformity with the Charter of the United Nations. 6. Abstention from the use of arrangements of collective defence to serve the particular interests of any of the big powers, and abstention by any country from exerting pressures on other countries. 7. Refraining from acts or threats of aggression or the use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any country. 8. Settlement of all international disputes by peaceful means, such as negotiation, conciliation, arbitration, or judicial settlement as well as other peaceful means of the parties’ own choice, in conformity with the Charter of the United Nations. 9. Promotion of mutual interests and cooperation. 10. Respect for justice and international obligations. These became known as the Ten Principles of Bandung (Communiqué 1955).1 They had their origins in two sources. During the conference, U Nu, prime minister of Burma, initiated the debate by tabling a resolution that contained six of the Ten Principles, namely 1–4, 7, and 9 (Frankland and Woodcock 1958, 420). However, U Nu was building on the Five Principles or Panscheel that had been agreed twelve months earlier by China and India and included in an agreement on Tibet (Jansen 1966, 127–32; Willetts 1978, 7–8). The first four of these five became 2, 4, 7, and 9 of the Bandung Ten. The fifth was simply “peaceful coexistence,” but at this point in the Cold War the term “peaceful coexistence” was rejected by pro-Western governments as dangerous communist propaganda. Number 8 in the above list emerged from the subsequent intense controversy and provided a substitute for “peaceful coexistence” (Jansen 1966, 228; Communiqué 1955).

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The original Five Principles did not go beyond the promotion of mutual acceptance by each government of the other recognized governments around the world. They were about defending the status quo. U Nu added 1 and 3, which promoted quite different values – global respect for human rights and the other principles in the un Charter plus racial equality and the right of governments from small countries to be treated with respect by governments from larger countries. Principle 10 arose, without controversy, from the debate, adding a wider concern for international law. These three additions also challenged the status quo because human rights and racial equality can only be promoted by “interference in the internal affairs” of other countries. Equally, the un’s principles, the equality of all governments and respect for international law, challenged the conventional idea of the superior status of the larger “powers.” While principles 1, 3 and 10 were expressed in a low-key manner, they would be developed later by the non-aligned in a much more radical manner to become the core values of the Movement. The remaining two principles, 5 and 6, were inserted at the insistence of the seven Western allies who were present at Bandung. They asserted the right to form military alliances with “any of the big powers,” provided that it was for self-defence, not for the interests of the “big powers” and not for “exerting pressure on other countries.” Six years later, these two principles were rejected by the non-aligned and none of the seven Western allies were able to join the Movement until they ceased to be members of the South East Asia Treaty Organization or the Central Treaty Organization. From a twenty-first century perspective, it is a great surprise to note that the Ten Principles did not contain any mention of the process of decolonization that was already under way in 1955. President Sukarno and some other leaders at Bandung expressed strong hostility towards Western colonialism, but this was obscured by pro-Western participants, notably Sir John Kotelawala, the prime minister of Ceylon, applying the label of colonialism to the Soviet presence in Eastern Europe (see Frankland and Woodcock 1958 for extracts from both speeches). The compromise outcome was to omit the issue of decolonization from the Ten Principles, but to declare, in a separate section of the communiqué on “Problems of Dependent Peoples,” that “colonialism in all its manifestations is an evil which should speedily be brought to an end” (Communiqué 1955, emphasis added). Some academics writing from current progressive perspectives have reinterpreted the Bandung refusal to condemn

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the European empires as if this Bandung compromise was actually an antiimperialist statement (Pham and Shilliam 2016, 109, 121, 149, 155). There were five major new aspects of global politics that followed the Bandung conference. First, it established a new diplomacy with new actors; there had been no direct participation at Bandung by the dominant actors in the international system. In an epoch in which the European empires still had legitimacy, at least in the Western world, this was seen as a surprising innovation. Second, the un immediately gained sixteen new members. Since 1950, all membership applications had been blocked by the US or the Soviet Union. The Afro-Asians objected that their right to take part in international diplomacy should not be a side-effect of the Cold War. In December 1955, a package deal was agreed to and ten outstanding applications and six new Afro-Asian countries were all admitted to the un on the same day. Third, after the highly favourable impression made by Zhou Enlai at Bandung it became possible to challenge the refusal of the US to allow any discussion of the People’s Republic taking the Chinese seat at the un. Finally, in 1971, they were recognized “as the only legitimate representatives of China to the United Nations” (unga Res. 2758 (XXXVI), 25 October 1971). Fourth, an Afro-Asian Group was quickly formed as a caucusing group and a loose voting bloc in the un General Assembly. By organizing collectively, they were able to strengthen their bargaining position greatly and influence the resolutions adopted by the un (Allison 1958). Fifth, in response both to the un’s increased size and to the success of the Afro-Asian Group, all un members (except the US, South Africa, and Israel) became organized into five groups. The elected seats on the Security Council and on the Economic and Social Council (ecosoc) were divided out proportionally between the African, Asian, East European, Latin American, and “Western European and other States” regional groups (unga Res. 1991 (XVIII), 17 December 1963). In subsequent years, most of the specialist committees of the un came to be constituted in a similar manner. Together, these changes converted the un from a Western-dominated organization into a universal, global institution. It became possible to separate a range of issues from East-West ideological rivalry. The new structure of the un promoted greater political equality between governments. Its political outcomes became less affected by Cold War propaganda and more affected by problem-solving in the common interest. The development of group politics in the un had an impact on Yugoslavia’s position. A different set of looser

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groups had been agreed on in 1946 for elections to the Security Council, but there was no specific provision for either African or Asian un members. Yugoslavia was allocated to the Eastern European Group in 1946 and continued in that group after the new regional groups were used in the Security Council and ecosoc. Thus, Yugoslavia held an Eastern European seat on the Security Council in the years 1950–51, 1956, 1972–73, and 1988–89. In addition, Ambassador Lazar Mojsov was president of the General Assembly when an Eastern European had to be chosen for the thirty-second regular session in 1977–78. After the first summit of non-aligned countries, the situation changed for Yugoslavia. In 1963, it was accepted as a founder member of the Group of 77 (Willetts 1981, 255); in 1964 it became the only European country placed in the un Conference on Trade and Development, Group A, list of African and Asian developing countries (unga Res. 1995 (XIX); 30 December 1964); and in 1966 it gained the same status in the un Industrial Development Organization (unga Res. 2152 (XXI), 17 November 1966).

Who Were the Founders of the Non-Aligned Movement? The Cold War lasted from the breakdown of the American-Soviet alliance after the Second World War ended until 1990 when the Soviet Union disintegrated. The first period of détente occurred after the death of Stalin and the end of the Korean War in 1953. During this period, three leaders – Josip Broz Tito, Jawaharlal Nehru, and Gamal Abdel Nasser – gained a wider prominence in global politics. They each asserted a distinct role for their country and refused to engage in the Cold War. Tito had been the leader of the Yugoslavia Partisans, who were the only people in occupied Europe that liberated themselves from Nazi rule. He was a communist who was initially loyal to Stalin, but conflicts developed in 1948 when Tito would not accept a subordinate role (see Stubbs, this volume). Nehru was the first prime minister of India after full independence was achieved in 1947. He saw India as having an independent role in global politics, exercising moral leadership. Nasser had been a leader in the Egyptian army’s Free Officers movement, which overthrew the Egyptian monarchy in July 1952, both to end feudalism and to remove the British presence in Egypt. In June 1956, he was elected president as part of a general transfer to civilian rule. Nasser was an Arab nationalist rather than

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an Egyptian nationalist, and his popularity extended to other Arab countries, shown most strongly by the brief merger between Egypt and Syria from February 1958 to September 1961. Tito, Nehru, and Nasser each had considerable charisma, personified the identity of their country, and gained high visibility in global politics. They each challenged the influence of so-called big powers over their country and proclaimed their “active neutrality” or “non-alignment” or “positive neutrality” in the Cold War. They each advocated a distinct version of socialism: Tito introduced to a communist country elements of a market economy and companies under workers’ self-management, with significant freedom of expression and a highly popular leadership, in a one-party system that operated with varying levels of authoritarianism; Nehru aimed to develop a secular, democratic, socialist system that was neither unbridled capitalism nor communism; and Nasser combined secularism, populism, socialism, and nationalism in a one-party system but refused to ally with Arab communists. Thus, the domestic policy goals and the foreign policy goals in each country were mutually supportive. Tito took the lead in bringing the three leaders together and in promoting links between Yugoslavia and developing countries. He often used an unusual diplomatic procedure. He held a series of meetings with foreign leaders by going for long journeys in a Yugoslav Navy training ship that was converted into a presidential yacht, Galeb (the Seagull), which became known as the Peace Ship. The following four journeys established Tito as a major participant in Afro-Asian politics:

• December 1954 to February 1955 – to India and Burma, stopping to host Nasser and Nehru on the Galeb at Suez on the way home. • December 1955 to January 1956 – to Ethiopia and Egypt. • December 1958 to March 1959 – to Indonesia, Burma, India, Ceylon, Ethiopia, and Sudan, plus stops in Egypt. • February 1961 to April 1961 – to Ghana, Togo, Liberia, Guinea, Mali, Morocco, and Tunisia, ending with six days in Egypt. In addition, Tito hosted foreign visitors in seclusion on the small but beautiful island of Brijuni. Nasser came to Yugoslavia for eight days in July 1956 and Nehru joined them on Brijuni for the last two days (Mates 1972, 379–83). Overall,

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from 1954 until the first non-aligned summit in September 1961, Tito and Nasser had nine bilateral meetings. The three leaders were drawn closer together by their joint response to the Suez crisis. Nasser nationalized the Suez Canal in July 1956. In late October, Israel invaded Egypt, taking control of the Sinai. Then, a week later, the uk and France seized the canal. The Yugoslavs were able to adopt a crucial role in the un’s response because they were on the Security Council in 1956. When the uk and France used their vetoes in the council, Yugoslavia took the lead, tabling a procedural resolution, which could not be vetoed, to convene an Emergency Special Session of the General Assembly. In the resulting session, the US delegation, the Canadians, the un Secretary-General, and the AfroAsian Group, under Indian leadership, mobilized support in the assembly for both a ceasefire and the deployment of a peacekeeping force. It was not until September 1960 that the five “founders of the NonAligned Movement” first met as a group. Tito convened a meeting with Nasser, Nehru, Nkrumah, and Sukarno at the Yugoslav Permanent Mission to the un in New York during the second week of the General Assembly’s Fifteenth Session (Mates 1972, 228; Petrović 2014, 586–7). The background to this meeting and Tito’s priorities at the un have already been outlined in the introductory chapter of this volume. This session of the assembly was a turning point in the history of the un, with what was then a record turnout of twenty-four political leaders who took part in the initial General Debate. However, there was not a political balance among the leaders: there were nine from countries that would attend the first non-aligned summit twelve months later, while there were none at all from the remaining African, Asian, and Latin American countries. Earlier in the year, East-West tensions had greatly increased when a US U2 aircraft spying over the Soviet Union was shot down, leading to the breakdown of a disarmament conference in Paris. In response, the five “founders” prepared a draft resolution that “Requests, as a first urgent step, the President of the United States of America and the Chairman of the Council of Ministers of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics to renew their contacts” (un doc. A/4552, 3 October 1960). They sent the draft to President Eisenhower and Chairman Khrushchev at the same time as submitting it to the un (Coffman and Sampson 1991).

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2.1 “The Five Founders” meet at the Yugoslav Permanent Mission to the United Nations, 29 September 1960. From left to right: Nehru, Nkrumah, Nasser, Sukarno, and Tito. Mahmoud Fawzi, The Egyptian foreign minister, is on the stairs behind Tito.

First, Eisenhower and then Khrushchev responded directly to the five, and while their tone was sympathetic, each blamed the other for the breakdown in their relations. The Australian delegation submitted an amendment that defused the call for Eisenhower and Khrushchev to meet, but this was defeated. Then, Argentina made a procedural proposal to vote separately on the words “the President of ” and “the Chairman of the Council of Ministers.” After an acrimonious debate, these key words were deleted, leaving a vacuous text calling for the US and the Soviets to “renew their contacts.” Nehru responded by withdrawing the deficient draft resolution. The Indians came back to the issue two weeks later with a new draft resolution expressing deep concern about “the increase in world tensions” and the “grave risk to world peace”: it urged all countries to take “immediate and constructive steps” to

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deal with the current “urgent problems” (unga Res. 1495 (XV), 17 October 1960). Neither the West nor the East could oppose a resolution worded in such general terms. The real battle was over how many countries would sponsor it. Only twenty of the Afro-Asian Group went ahead while twenty-six did not (Official Records of the General Assembly, 15 Session, Annexes volume 1, https://undocs.org/en/A/15/Annexes/Vol.I). The leaders of the Western alliance had tried and failed to replace the draft resolution tabled by the five “founders” with a piece of Western propaganda. In addition, a majority of the assembly endorsed the draft, despite Western lobbying against it. The West only narrowly forced the withdrawal of the first draft by a procedural manoeuvre, and they could not resist the second draft tabled by India. These events are sometimes described as the first joint action of the non-aligned. In a formal sense, this is not valid because there was no organizational continuity between the five leaders and the convening of the wider non-aligned group. Indeed, the five never met again, on their own, for any other purpose. Their meeting continues to have an exaggerated prominence on the internet because of the availability of their joint photographs. In pre-internet days, the meeting in September 1960 was mentioned when discussing the background to the 1961 Belgrade summit, but the five were not described as “founders” (Jansen 1966, 243–4; Rubinstein 1970, 107; Mates 1972, 228; Kimche 1973, 94). However, the Egyptian and the Yugoslav governments did each refer to the meeting, less grandly, as the first non-aligned meeting (Willetts 1978, 12). A different historical twist arose in 1972 when a “NonAligned Monument” was created in Georgetown, Guyana, with bronze busts to four “founders” – Nasser, Nkrumah, Nehru, and Tito (Ramphal 2014, 124). By then, the Indonesian government was rewriting history with its policy of “de-Sukarnoization.” However, the initiative contributed to the more radical and independent governments feeling a need for greater anticolonial solidarity and appreciating the potential benefits of acting jointly in an organized manner. Also, the events demonstrated the Afro-Asian Group was not able to remain a united group in the face of Western pressure, so it contributed to the non-aligned coming together as a smaller more coherent group that was willing to include Tito in a group that would not appeal to bicontinentalism (Rubinstein 1970, 63).

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Tito and Nasser Convene the First Non-Aligned Summit Conference From 1956 there were discussions of the idea that there should be another international conference bringing together a wide range of developing countries, including in particular the newly independent African countries. Nasser at first wanted a “second Bandung.” Tito endorsed this in the hope that Yugoslavia might also be invited, but, when it became clear that Yugoslavia was not – at this stage – going to be treated as an Afro-Asian country, he switched to favouring a conference of “uncommitted countries.” Nehru continually blocked the idea of “the creation of a new global political grouping” or any “kind of neutralist bloc.” Such differences first arose as early as the tripartite meeting in Brijuni, in July 1956, but Tito’s approach gained increasing support in the following five years (Petrović 2014, 585; Caruthers 1956; Abel 1956a, 1956b). In 1960, it became clear the African countries wished to strengthen their position by engaging in conference diplomacy. But the Africans initially split into two rival groups. There were four African conflicts that rose to the top of the global agenda soon after the Brijuni meeting. The bitter war in Algeria, between the Front de libération nationale (fln) and French settlers, grew in intensity, causing global antipathy towards the French government. The sudden rapid decolonization of the Democratic Republic of the Congo was followed, in mid1960, by a breakdown of the central government, conflicts between President Kasavuba and Prime Minister Lumumba, and the return of Belgian troops. Nkrumah’s Pan-Africanism divided radical nationalists from those who were conciliatory towards the West. Mauritania’s application to join the un was vetoed by the Soviet Union, in support of a territorial claim by Morocco. The newly independent African governments were divided on these questions. A group of twelve former French colonies met together in Abidjan in October 1960 and Brazzaville in December 1960: they became known as the Brazzaville Group. They were conciliatory towards De Gaulle over his attempts to bring to an end the Algerian War; they supported President Kasavuba in the Congo, those neighbouring Ghana feared Nkrumah might have ambitions to absorb their countries; and they all supported the admission of Mauritania, which was a full member of their group, to the un.

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Nkrumah and Nasser brought together an alternative, smaller, radical, anticolonial grouping, which accepted the Moroccan invitation to host a conference in Casablanca in January 1961. They recognized the Algerian fln and included it as an equal member of their group. They supported Lumumba against Kasavubu’s attempts to dismiss him and were outraged when Lumumba was executed. They were uncompromising in their anticolonialism and saw unity as a necessary part of their challenge to the West. They endorsed Morocco’s claim to Mauritania. Although these divisions only lasted for a short period, from 1960 to 1963, they defined which African countries would attend the first non-aligned conference (Willetts 1978, 11, 14). There was, nevertheless, an underlying unity on decolonization, and the division was more about current political tactics than the long-term goal. In December 1960, the Afro-Asian Group, with the Casablanca countries in the lead and the Brazzaville countries providing later support, drove through the adoption of the Declaration on Decolonization by the un General Assembly (un docs. A/L.323 and Add.1–6; unga Res. 1514 (XV), 14 December 1960). The divisions were still at their height when Tito started on the fourth of his lengthy diplomatic excursions on the Peace Ship, from mid-February to the end of April 1961. He first visited five West African countries, starting with Ghana and ending with Nkrumah’s two closest allies, Guinea and Mali. Then he returned via North Africa, going first to Morocco and Tunisia, and finally having long discussions with Nasser in Egypt on 17– 22 April 1961. While Tito was travelling from West Africa back to North Africa, the Chinese foreign minister, Marshall Chen Yi, was visiting Indonesia. Their joint communiqué on 1 April 1961 stated: “the two countries deemed it very necessary to convene a second Asian-African conference in the shortest time” (Chen Yi 1961, 8–9). Tito and Nasser decided that another Bandung-type AfroAsian conference could not contribute to resolving East-West disputes because the Bandung membership included committed allies from each side and the conciliatory approach adopted, notably by the communist Chinese, in Bandung was not likely to be repeated. They were also interested in winning support in Latin America and, of course, Yugoslavia would be excluded from another Asian-African conference. In addition to the abandonment of bicontinentalism, Tito and Nasser chose to work with the countries that would strongly assert their independent nationalist attitudes and not compromise on anticolonialism. Tito had already

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gained the support of a number of African countries. Tito and Nasser ignored the opposition from Sukarno and Nehru: on 22 April, their joint communiqué stated: “consultations between the non-aligned countries are indispensable” (Watt 1965, 596–7); and on 26 April, they sent out letters to seek support from twenty-one other specified countries (Petrović 2014, 587–88). On 16 May, Sukarno joined Tito and Nasser to announce formal invitations to a preparatory conference to be held in Cairo on 5–12 June 1961. They said Nehru “is happy to join us in extending this invitation.” Nehru was not a founder: an Indian journalist, Jansen, described Nehru’s attitude as “uneasy, compulsory co-operation,” (Jansen 1966, 281–2; see also Kimche 1973, 95; Dinkel 2019, 67). In his speech in Belgrade, Nehru also showed himself to be out of step with the other non-aligned governments when he declared prematurely: “The era of classic colonialism is gone and dead” (Jugoslavija 1964, 117). Thus, the myth of the “five founders” – like all myths – is based on some historical facts but is a misrepresentation of what actually happened. The “five founders” provide an alternative history to the myth that the origins of the Non-Aligned Movement lie in the Bandung conference. They provide a different starting date, September 1960, instead of April 1955. This chapter provides a third historical interpretation: there were actually two founders, Tito and Nasser. Tito formulated the idea of a radical grouping, based on a common ideological approach and rejection of bicontinentalism, while Nasser had the prestige of successfully confronting the Western bloc in the 1956 Suez crisis. Tito and Nasser each provided leadership that was recognized and respected in both Africa and Asia. Nehru had established India as a major participant in international diplomacy and had also coined the term nonalignment but was reluctant to act collectively with small countries (Dinkel 2019, 97). Sukarno was a hero for having liberated Indonesia, first from the Japanese and then from the returning Dutch colonial regime, but he preferred bicontinentalism. Nkrumah was leader of the first sub-Saharan African country to win its independence, but he was focused on Pan-Africanism. Tito and Nasser alone took the decision to convene the first non-aligned summit.

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The Myth That the Non-Aligned Movement Was Founded at Bandung The historical record shows Bandung did not create the basis for forming the Non-Aligned Movement (Stubbs, this volume). The Asian-African conference originated from the desire to bring countries together under the umbrella of bicontinentalism irrespective of their policies on the Cold War. On the other hand, the Belgrade conference was defined by a radical nationalism that asserted independence from both sides in the Cold War and a rejection of the conservative nationalism of those leaders of newly independent countries who avoided criticizing their former colonizers. At Bandung, some limited support was expressed for decolonization. In sharp contrast to Bandung, the anticolonial stance at Belgrade was much stronger and motivated by hostility to the main Western countries. Some widely accepted progressive principles were endorsed at Bandung, such as support for economic cooperation, cultural cooperation, and human rights. The only progressive principle that aroused excitement about Bandung was “recognition of the equality of all races” (Communiqué 1955). At this time, the rest of the world was beginning to recognize how extensive racial discrimination was in the United States, and Bandung struck a chord with some Black activists in the US (notably, Wright 1956). We have seen that Cold War antagonisms were played out in the debates at Bandung. At Belgrade, there was a rejection of passive neutrality and active endorsement of acceptable ideas from either side in the Cold War, in an approach that was called “positive neutrality.” Following the death of Stalin, Tito had been pursuing rapprochement with the Soviet Union. Also, it was agreed to invite Castro, who was seen as a hero for successfully defeating the American-organized invasion at the Bay of Pigs on 14 April 1961. The Belgrade conference ended with special missions being sent to both Washington and Moscow to make an identical “Appeal for Peace” to each “superpower.” There was an ideological divergence between Bandung and Belgrade, both on the pursuit of anticolonialism and on Cold War questions. Despite what actually happened, there is “an oversimplified, imaginary Bandung that finds its significance solely as the birthplace of non-alignment and Third Worldism,” (Burke, in McDougall and Finnane 2010, 28; see also Jansen 1966, 182); “there was very little agreement on any subject” and “no

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Afro-Asian ideology emerged from Bandung,” (Kimche 1973, 73, 74). “Nonalignment, which was not mentioned in the final communiqué, alone held out the promise of maximum political cohesiveness” (Rubinstein 1970, 63). The myth that anticolonial solidarity had been created at Bandung arose at the end of the 1950s and has reappeared in the twenty-first century. Robert Vitalis (2013) has extensively catalogued the myth-making as the “Fables of Bandung.” The Arab leaders at Bandung did manage to overcome opposition to direct criticism of French colonialism in “support of the rights of the people of Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia to self-determination and independence,” but there was no mention of the recent war of liberation in French Indo-China nor the dangers of potential US military intervention in Vietnam (Communiqué 1955). Two colonies approaching independence – the Gold Coast (now part of Ghana) and Sudan – did take part in the conference. However, the communiqué made no mention of the political struggles for decolonization in sub-Saharan Africa. Most astonishing of all, the invitations to Bandung included the Central African Federation, dominated by one of its three components – the white settler regime in Southern Rhodesia. No invitation went to South Africa, but dealing with the Federation would have been close to endorsing apartheid. Taking these points together, it is clear that most participants at Bandung had little knowledge about the European empires in Black Africa and gave minimal support to anticolonialism in sub-Saharan Africa. The divergence between bicontinentalism and non-aligned solidarity was clearly expressed when choosing which African and Asian governments were to be invited to each conference. Bandung was virtually all-encompassing, while at Belgrade they came from a smaller group of like-minded countries. All seven members of the radical Casablanca Group were at Belgrade in September 1961, and none of the twelve members of the conservative Brazzaville Group were there. At its sharpest, members of Western multilateral military alliances in Asia were able to attend Bandung, but none would be allowed at any non-aligned conference until they ceased to be alliance members. Bandung was not open to governments from other continents, but nam has always been open to ideologically acceptable governments from any part of the world. There were also differences in the willingness to engage with nonstate global actors. Bandung did have the governments of Sudan and Ghana before they

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became independent, but nam has gone much further. The Algerian fln had been a full member of the Casablanca Group and, at their insistence, with Yugoslav support, “in the teeth of opposition by a group of countries led by India,” the Cairo Preparatory Meeting added the fln to the list of full participants at the Belgrade summit (Jansen 1966, 284). Tito was cautious about antagonizing the French over the Algerian conflict, but he had been an active supporter of the fln since its formation in 1954 (Rubinstein 1970, 85–7, 243). In a dramatic move during the Belgrade summit, Yugoslavia, Ghana, Mali, Afghanistan, and Cambodia recognized the fln as the de jure government of Algeria (Dinkel 2019, 102). There were also eighteen other national liberation movements from African colonies and South Africa; eleven socialist parties; Japanese trade unionists; and four other organizations, including the US National Committee for a Sane Nuclear Policy and the uk Movement for Colonial Freedom. All these other groups were registered as Observer Organizations, (Jugoslavija 1964, Appendix III ). This practice went further and had a global impact in the 1970s. The Palestine Liberation Organization (plo) gained its first international recognition when it joined the Observers at the Georgetown Foreign Ministers’ conference in 1972 alongside four liberation movements from Southern Africa and the Puerto Rican Socialist Party. The plo’s position was strengthened by the Declaration on the Struggle for National Liberation adopted at the fourth summit in Algiers in 1973 (un doc. A/9330: 25–31, 22 November 1973, https:// undocs.org/A/9330). At the next non-aligned conference, in August 1975, in Lima, the plo gained full membership in nam (un doc. A/10217: para. 2, 5 September 1975, https://undocs.org/A/10217). The radical nature of this decision is shown by the fact that the plo did not gain full membership of the Arab League until a year later, in September 1976. It was argued above that five significant changes in global politics followed the Bandung conference. Four of these changes were part of a historical time sequence rather than outcomes that were caused by the Afro-Asian conference. First, the new diplomacy, with new actors from Asia and Africa, was brought about by the progress of decolonization and was not the cause of decolonization. Second, the Bandung assertion that “membership in the United Nations should be universal” (Communiqué 1955) added extra pressure to break the Cold War stalemate moratorium on the un accepting new members. However, it was sustained by the hard work of the Canadian dele-

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gation, which achieved General Assembly support for a package deal (Holmes 1982, 336–48). The Bandung conference did no more than provide strong external support to the majority of the existing un members who wanted to end the moratorium. Third, increased Afro-Asian solidarity was just one among several factors promoting the slow change that defeated US opposition to the People’s Republic of China joining the un. While the Bandung communiqué directly advocated the admission of seven Afro-Asian countries to the un, it did not even mention admission of communist China. On the other hand, the Yugoslavs ensured support for the Beijing government taking China’s un seat was in the Belgrade Declaration (Rubinstein 1970, 243; Jugoslavija 1964, 275). Fourth, the formation of the Afro-Asian Group at the un is the one change clearly caused by the Asian-African conference. Despite the fact that since 1950 there had been some ad hoc cooperation at the un in an Arab-Asian group (Allison 1958, 1, 10, 24; Kimche 1973, 35–9), the new, allinclusive Afro-Asian Group collaborated in a more sustained manner than any group had previously. Fifth, the creation of the un regional groups was more a response to the increased size of the un and the consequent need to have rules for the composition of its subsidiary bodies than it was a response to Bandung.

Non-Aligned Solidarity Supplants Bandung Bicontinentalism In the light of all these differences, it is not surprising there is no historical evidence of any institutional link or any other form of direct continuity from Bandung to Belgrade. In addition to the ideological differences, the membership differences, and the lack of continuity between bicontinentalism and non-alignment, there has twice been direct institutional conflict between a few governments wishing to convene a “second Bandung” and a much wider grouping that preferred to convene a non-aligned conference. The first competition, which was won by the non-aligned in 1961, was mentioned above. After the Sino-Soviet split, the Chinese sought to mobilize support among developing countries, notably by Zhou Enlai and Chen Yi following Tito’s example, with a tour of Africa, from 13 December 1963 to 5 February 1964 (China mfa n.d.). They made a sustained attempt to hold a second Bandung and the Indonesians held a preparatory meeting in Djakarta in April 1964 (Ogunsanwo

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1974, 122–7). It would appear that the only reason for holding the second nam summit in October 1964 was to prevent a second Bandung. Nevertheless, an Afro-Asian Foreign Ministers conference was held later, in June 1965, in Algiers at the level of officials only to be closed before the foreign ministers arrived (Jansen 1965; Jansen 1966, chaps XVII–XIX). A similar debacle happened when a second attempt was made in October 1965 (Jansen 1966, chap. XIX). Many secondary reasons and/or excuses were given for not going ahead with a second Bandung, but the real reasons were deep divisions among the Afro-Asian governments. In particular, the majority had no more desire to be identified as allies of China than they had to be engaged in the Cold War. The final death of Bandung bicontinentalism occurred when, in the early 1970s, the Afro-Asian Group stopped operating at the United Nations. The third nam summit in September 1970 decided to hold “periodic consultations of representatives of non-aligned countries at different levels” (Tadić and Dromnjak 1989, Vol. I :45, para. 13i). This resulted in a ministerial meeting in New York in September 1971 at which they agreed “on the necessity for concerted action on their part particularly during the 26th Session of the General Assembly” (ibid.Vol. I :58, para. 13ff). Subsequently, there has been an annual ministerial meeting in New York at the start of each assembly session to set the priorities for nam during the session. Activities during each session have been through the nam Chair convening meetings. At the Algiers summit in 1973, a Coordinating Bureau was created and since then the nam caucus at the un has operated under the name of the bureau. It quickly became established that bureau meetings in New York would not be restricted to those countries elected as members of the bureau but would be open to all nam members. The Afro-Asian Group ceased to exist because it was supplanted by the nam Bureau.

The Current Legacy from Bandung Since the turn of this century, many references have been made to Bandung in nam summit declarations. These are all in sharp contrast to the early nam summits that made minimal mention of Bandung. The change started to occur in 1995 at the eleventh summit at Cartagena, Colombia, when a section

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on “The Legacy of Bandung” was added to the declaration, by exploiting commemoration of the fortieth anniversary. It “hailed the historical Conference of Bandung which gave birth to the principles of Non-Alignment and the peaceful co-existence among States” (despite the fact that “peaceful coexistence” had been rejected at Bandung). However, the section ended praising the accomplishments of the Movement “over the last thirty-four years,” which refers back to the Belgrade summit in 1961 rather than to Bandung. Stronger historical links have been affirmed, from 2006 onwards, by regular references to Bandung in nam declarations. Also, the main political declarations of the fourteenth to eighteenth nam summits have each had an “Appendix II” containing the exact original wording of the Bandung Ten Principles, but – curiously – the appendices do not acknowledge any link to Bandung and are simply headed as “The Founding Principles of the Non-Aligned Movement.” The 2006 Havana summit, in addition, prepared a three-thousand-word “Declaration on the Purposes and Principles and the Role of the Non-Aligned Movement.” The twenty-five principles in this declaration have been included as an “Appendix III” in the main political declaration issued by each subsequent summit. While most of the text of the Ten Principles is scattered across the Havana declaration, the conservatism of Bandung is swamped by the elaboration of additional principles of self-determination; tolerance; democracy; respect for political, economic, social, and cultural diversity; and solidarity among nations. The Bandung flag that protects dictators – non-interference in the internal affairs of individual countries – is reaffirmed in the Havana principles but is totally undermined by “rejection of unconstitutional change”; “condemnation of genocide, war crimes, crimes against humanity and systematic and gross violations of human rights”; and the “promotion and defence of multilateralism and multilateral organisations.”2 The annual New York Ministerial Meeting of nam in 2018 adopted a declaration that ended by saying nam would initiate consultations “to declare 24 April – [the] day of the conclusion of the Afro-Asian Conference of Bandung (1955) – as the International Day of Multilateralism and Diplomacy for Peace” (un doc. A/73/407, 4 October 2018, https://undocs.org/A/73/407). The resulting General Assembly resolution, which was sponsored by all the non-aligned plus seven others, authorized this addition to the un’s list of International Days to be commemorated each year (unga Res. 73/127, 12 December 2018;

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un doc A/73/L.48, 6 December 2018, https://undocs.org/en/A/73/L.48). However, the assembly resolution made no explicit mention of the Bandung conference. In April 2019 and in subsequent years, the day has been observed by a special “high-level meeting” of the General Assembly. All these confusing diplomatic manoeuvres show that the history of Bandung and nam is a contested history and demonstrate that events in the past do not necessarily influence what follows them. The persistent patterns of Bandung being invoked at nam events but then being downplayed, in the same documents, by references to the Movement’s origins being at Belgrade in 1961 can be explained by the contending sides agreeing to an acceptable compromise in 2006. The repetition of this compromise then made it easy to achieve an annual International Day of Multilateralism. One might wonder why nam would wish to promote – as Americans might put it – “motherhood and apple pie.” The answer was made clear in the special debate on 24 April 2019: it was a collective assertion by nam of “the urgent need to promote, defend and strengthen multilateralism” against the policies and behaviour of President Trump (un doc. A/73/PV.78, 24 April 2019, https://undocs.org/ en/A/73/PV.78). History was being used to serve current political goals.

The Current Legacy from Belgrade In the 1960s, the non-aligned group could not be described as an institution. All the activities were organized on an ad hoc basis. This began to change when, at the third summit in October 1970, pressure built up from the smaller countries for the non-aligned to form a secretariat. India strongly opposed such a development and there were problems about how it would be funded (Dinkel 2019, 167–9). The result was a compromise resolution entrusting the Zambian government with creating “appropriate implementation machinery of a flexible character while at the same time having no financial implications, to provide for continuity” (Tadić and Dromnjak 1989, Vol. I :55; Willetts 1981, 260). The Zambians used this authority to develop the role of the chairmanship, which was at the time an innovatory step. Then, at the Conference of Foreign Ministers in Georgetown in August 1972, an Action Programme for Economic Co-operation was outlined based on coordinating countries taking responsibility to provide leadership in each field (Tadić and Dromnjak 1989,

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Vol. I: 68–72; Willetts 1981, 260; Ramphal 2014, 128). With agreement to hold summits every three years, separate foreign ministers’ conferences in the intervening years, the formation of the Coordinating Bureau, and an active caucus at the United Nations, nam had, by the mid-1970s, become a structured intergovernmental organization (Willetts 1981, 26–51). It was in the early 1970s that the description of the non-aligned as a “Movement” first began to be used. Like the Commonwealth, the non-aligned had become an intergovernmental organization without a constitution or a charter, but the routinized patterns of behaviour and the shared identity justify calling them an institution. Opposition to forming a secretariat was bypassed when Mahathir Mohamad, the Malaysian prime minister, asked Julius Nyerere, the former president of Tanzania, to chair a South Commission and simply announced this to the eighth nam summit in Harare in 1986. The commission report in 1990 included a recommendation for a South Secretariat to provide “technical, intellectual and organisational support.” Eventually the South Centre was established in Geneva by a treaty agreement, which came into force on 31 July 1995. This became a valuable think tank to assist developing countries in policymaking (Nyerere 1990, 202–4; Mahathir 1990; South Centre n.d.). People who take the word “non-aligned” too literally expected the nam to disintegrate when the Cold War ended in 1990. Those who knew nam better saw the disintegration of Yugoslavia in 1991–92 as a more severe, symbolic, and practical blow to nam. However, there remained sufficient idealism about political and economic cooperation between developing countries and a sufficiently strong institutional structure for nam to continue for another twenty years. It was an unfortunate coincidence that Yugoslavia held the role of chair in the 1989–92 period, but in the following three-year periods, the Indonesians, the Colombians, the South Africans, the Malaysians, and the Cubans provided competent leadership, even if organizing the Movement was not a high priority for these governments. Substantial problems began from the upheavals in Egypt when they were in the chair from 2009 to 2012, followed by Iran, Venezuela, and Azerbaijan being chosen despite their governments being ideologically and politically on the fringes of the Movement. Each of the four have been authoritarian regimes distracted by domestic and/or international conflicts. An even more fundamental problem was the development of deep conflicts between members of nam, especially over the Syrian

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Civil War. The standard nam response in the past would have been to form mediation missions, but that was not possible. Indeed, nam have been so divided that they have been unable to call for the end of fighting and the withdrawal of foreign forces.

Conclusion: Does the Non-Aligned Movement Have a Future? The prospect for the future of the non-aligned in the covid world looks very poor. The practical problems of sustainable development are becoming overwhelming with the addition of the twin disasters of pandemics and climate change. The war in Ukraine and its impact on the trade in wheat and soya has threatened food crises around the world. This has caused divisions among the non-aligned and between African governments that rely on wheat imports and others, such as Syria and India, that are supporting Russia. The Movement no longer has strong institutions, inspiring leadership, or a common ideology. No appeal can be made to a common interpretation of history. All that remains is a legacy of antipathy to the United States following Trump’s presidency and support for the Palestinians under Israeli occupation. It is just possible that the Biden presidency will open an era of greater multilateral cooperation to address contemporary conflicts and common problems. As Jürgen Dinkel concludes in his authoritative study of the Movement, finding new leaders who can promote global public goods and strengthen the non-aligned institutions would be one of “a range of strategies, to alter the structures of international relations” (Dinkel 2019, 288) and challenge the inequities in North-South relations. Then, the non-aligned could revive by invoking the Ten Principles of Bandung to support Ukraine against the Russian invasion and by creating a revised version of their history as supporters of the United Nations and leaders in multilateral cooperation.

notes 1 The original Indonesian publication is not widely available, but a copy of pp. 161–9, containing the “Final Communiqué of the Asian-African Conference” is in Frankland and Woodcock 1958, 429–36.

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2 The political declarations adopted by fourteenth–eighteenth summits are available as the following un documents: A/61/472–S/2006/780, Havana, 2006; A/63/965-S/2009/514, Sharm El-Sheikh, 2009; A/67/506–S/2012/7522012, Tehran, 2012; and A/74/548, Baku, 2019. The declaration for the seventeenth nam summit in 2016 was not issued at the un but is at http://cns.miis.edu/ nam/documents/Official_Document/XVII-NAM-Summit-Final-OutcomeDocument-ENG.pdf.

references Abel, Elie. 1956a. “Nasser and Tito End Private Talk.” New York Times, 15 July 1956. https://www.nytimes.com/1956/07/15/archives/nasser-and-tito-end-private-talkegyptian-leader-then-begins-3day.html. – 1956b. “Nehru Joins Tito, Nasser; Limits Conference Hopes.” New York Times, 19 July 1956. https://www.nytimes.com/1956/07/19/archives/nehru-joins-tito-nasserlimits-conference-hopes-nehru-opens-talk.html. Allison, Earl R. 1958. “The Afro-Asian Bloc in the General Assembly (1954–1957).” Master’s thesis, University of Nebraska-Lincoln. https://digitalcommons.unl. edu/archivaltheses/368. Caruthers, Osgood. 1956. “Nasser and Tito Map Nehru Talk.” New York Times, 14 July 1956. https://www.nytimes.com/1956/07/14/archives/nasser-and-tito-mapnehru-talk-2-leaders-draft-agenda-for.html. Chen Yi. 1961. “Chinese-Indonesian Foreign Ministers’ Joint Communiqué.” Peking Review 4, no. 14 (7 April 1961). https://www.marxists.org/subject/china/pekingeview/1961/PR1961–14.pdf. China mfa. n.d. “Premier Zhou Enlai’s Three Tours of Asian and African countries.” Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the People’s Republic of China. Accessed 30 April 2021. https://www.fmprc.gov.cn/mfa_eng/ziliao_665539/3602_665543/ 3604_665547/t18001.shtm. Coffman, Suzanne, and Charles Sampson, eds. 1991. “Letter From Certain Heads of State to the President.” Foreign Relations of the United States, 1958–1960, United Nations and General International Matters, vol. 2, Item 197. https://history.state. gov/historicaldocuments/frus1958–60v02/d197. Communiqué. 1955. Asia-Africa Speak from Bandung. Djakarta: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Republic of Indonesia. Dinkel, Jürgen. 2019. The Non-Aligned Movement: Genesis, Organization and Politics (1927–1992). Leiden: Brill.

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Frankland Noble, and Patricia Woodcock, eds. 1958. Documents on International Affairs 1955. London: Oxford University Press. Holmes, John W. 1982. The Shaping of Peace: Canada and the Search for World Order 1943–1957, vol. 2. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Jansen, G.H. 1965. “Postponement of the ‘Second Bandung.’” The World Today 21 (9): 398–406. – 1966. Afro-Asia and Non-Alignment. London: Faber and Faber. Jugoslavija. c. 1964. Conference of Heads of State or Government of Non-Aligned Countries, Belgrade, September 1–6, 1961. Belgrade: Jugoslavija Publishing House. Kimche, David. 1973. The Afro-Asian Movement: Ideology and Foreign Policy of the Third World. Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press. Mahathir bin Mohamad. 1990. Speech given at the launching of the South Commission Report, Caracas, Venezuela, 3 August 1990. http://www.mahathir.com/ malaysia/speeches/1990/1990-08-03.php. Mates, Leo. 1972. Non-Alignment: Theory and Current Policy. Belgrade: Institute of International Politics and Economics / New York: Oceana Publications. McDougall, Derek, and Antonia Finnane, eds. 2010. Bandung 1955: Little Histories. Caulfield, AU: Monash University Press. Nyerere, Julius et al. 1990. The Challenge to the South: Report of the South Commission. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ogunsanwo, Alaba. 1974. China’s Policy in Africa 1958–71. London: lse Monographs in International Studies. Petrović, Vladimir. 2014. “Josip Broz Tito’s Summit Diplomacy in the International Relations of Socialist Yugoslavia 1944–1961.” Annales: Series historia et sociologia, 24, no. 4: 577–92. Pham, Qu nh N., and Robbie Shilliam, eds. 2016. Meanings of Bandung: Postcolonial Orders and Decolonial Visions. London: Rowman & Littlefield. Ramphal, Shridath. 2014. Glimpses of a Global Life. Hertford, uk: Hansib. Rubinstein, Alvin Z. 1970. Yugoslavia and the Nonaligned World. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. South Centre. n.d. “About the South Centre.” Accessed 30 April 2021. https://www. southcentre.int/about-the-south-centre. Tadić, Bojana, and Miloš Dromnjak. 1989. Documents of the Gatherings of the Non-Aligned Countries, 1956–1989. 2 vols. Belgrade: Medunarodna Politika and Institut za Medunarodnu Politiku i Privredu. un doc. Various dates. Document of the United Nations. Various dates.

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unga res. Various dates. Resolution of the United Nations General Assembly. Various dates. Vitalis, Robert. 2013. “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung (Bandoong).” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 4, no. 2: 261–88. Watt, D.C., ed. 1965. Documents on International Affairs 1961. London: Oxford University Press. Willetts, Peter. 1978. The Non-Aligned Movement: The Origins of a Third World Alliance. London: Frances Pinter. – 1981. The Non-Aligned in Havana: Documents of the Sixth Summit Conference and an Analysis of their Significance for the Global Political System. London: Frances Pinter. Wright, Richard. 1956. The Color Curtain: A Report on the Bandung Conference. New York: World Publishing Company.

3 The Ruptures of Non-Alignment and Socialist Yugoslavia: Ten Theses on Alternative Pasts and Futures Gal Kirn Today injustice goes with a certain stride, The oppressors move in for ten thousand years. Force sounds certain: it will stay the way it is. No voice resounds except the voice of the rulers. And on the markets, exploitation says it out loud: I am only just beginning. But of the oppressed, many now say: What we want will never happen. Whoever is alive must never say “never”! Certainty is never certain. It will not stay the way it is. When the rulers have already spoken, Then the ruled will start to speak. Who dares say “never”? Who’s to blame if repression remains? We are. Who can break its thrall? We can. Whoever has been beaten down must rise to his feet! Whoever is lost must fight back! Whoever has recognized his condition – how can anyone stop him? Because the vanquished of today will be tomorrow’s victors And “never” will become: “already today”! Bertold Brecht, In Praise of Dialectics

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Introduction: Reading History through Ruptures This chapter consists of ten theses that highlight the importance of the NonAligned Movement (nam) and Yugoslav contribution to nam and frame it within the larger history of Partisan and anticolonial ruptures of the twentieth century. While most dominant historical and journalistic analyses focused on the period between the Second World War and the fall of the Berlin Wall through the lens of Cold War, the following theses challenge such a view and reorient our historical and political imaginary to understanding the deeper links between antifascist, anticolonial, and anti-imperialist struggles. Their existence, historical resonances, and different materializations of an alternative world already from the mid-twentieth century onwards ruptured the narrative of a bipolar world. The First World and Second World follow a neat division of power and a teleology of Western domination of capital and liberal democracy and socialist hegemony orchestrated by the Soviet Union and its (never quite) coming communism. Rather than the dualism of two blocks that follow their own “ends of history,” the emergence of nam and Partisan and anticolonial struggles demonstrate that history should be understood through “ruptures” (Althusser 2006) and recovered through the position and political work of the oppressed (Benjamin 2006). In my book Partisan Ruptures (Kirn 2019, chap. 2), I first conceive rupture negatively: rupture is not a single and irreversible event that would change the world for good. Also, rupture cannot be reduced and simply objectively explained and predicted. Rather, rupture is defined as a historical event that brings with it strong consequences that will, in multiple ways, transform the world. Its emergence is contingent and has to be thought in its own terms, from its own interiority. In the moment that ruptures trigger strong consequences and resonate across societies, we can speak of rupture becoming part of a revolutionary process. The departing epistemological point – to read history through ruptures – is measured here through the continuing importance of nam for global history and the Yugoslav contribution to nam. What follows is a research proposal formulated around ten theses that navigate across the politics of “non-aligned modernity” (see Videkanić, this volume).

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Thesis 1: There is No Universal Frame of the Cold War, but a Multiplicity of Struggles That Ruptured with Old Colonial and New Bipolar Frames. Many appraisals of the second part of the twentieth century build their story around an oxymoronic trope of the Cold War that synthesizes the whole period between 1945 and 1989 within a bipolar frame of bloc politics. Those insisting on speaking exclusively from the perspective of the Cold War participate in perpetuating the hegemonic institutionalization of bipolarity as the dominant orientation in the world regardless of their different departure points and ultimate destinations. The material belief in such a constellation as an eternal fight and its abrupt and unexpected end explains the coming of the triumphant archangel of Fukuyama (1992) announcing the “end of history” after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Real existing socialism imploded and disappeared from the map, while the First World replaced it with real existing capitalism. The Second and evidently also the Third World were defeated, and it was now time to settle the account with the past in an antitotalitarian narrative that equated communism with fascism and erased memory of all previous revolutionary experiences, from the struggles of women, workers, and peasants to those of colonized peoples and nations (Losurdo 2015). The European postwar legacy of antifascism was gradually forgotten (Traverso 2017), and communism even criminalized (Neumayer 2018), while in recent years in the core of Europe, voices from the political centre and right openly justified the past colonial regimes of their glorious national histories. The conventional geopolitical and historical frame is not only apologetic towards the existing state of affairs, but also fails to address disturbing past episodes that are deemed mere footnotes of general history. This semi-forgotten history, especially the history of anticolonial struggles, the Non-Aligned Movement, and the broader Third World project (Prashad 2007) is the main focus of this chapter. As noted above, the dominant map and image-making process for the period between the Second World War and the fall of Berlin Wall was the Cold War, erasing any trace of rupture, any political autonomy of democratic and revolutionary subjects, that does not immediately translate into the dominant political institutions of neoliberal capitalism. Whenever critical research digs further, it becomes apparent that the experiences of the struggle in the mid-

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and latter part of the twentieth century actually redefined the very political terrain of that struggle. The triumphant end of the Second World War was not only a victory over fascism, itself not valid for Europe since fascist dictatorships continued up until the 1970s in Spain and Portugal, for example, but was also the start of the anticolonial uprising in Algeria, on the very date of the capitulation of Nazi Germany, the extension of civil war in Greece, the splitting of the Koreas, the victory of Chinese communists, and the independence of India. All these major events were followed by a tide of strong political ruptures associated with nonviolent and armed anticolonial liberation struggles across the globe. If not earlier, then at least from the Bandung summit in 1955 (Amin 2017), any serious historical and political-economic perspective needs to speak of the emergence of a third orientation, of non-alignment, that was, along with the un, organizing a very large number of state entities under one umbrella, destined to become, in the course of the next decade, an important subject of and in world politics.

Thesis 2: Ruptures Make History (not Empire/State, Capital, Divine Providence), and They Are the Result of the Political Work of the Oppressed. Understanding anticolonial and non-aligned modernities should not be misconstrued as an idealization of non-aligned and anticolonial histories that can be severed from the world outside. Any materialist diagnosis departs from a critique of the then existing global state of affairs and accounts for the specific history of colonialism, imperialism, and US hegemony in the modern world system, on the one hand, and the political pragmatism and expansionism of the first socialist country, the ussr, and its foreign policies, on the other. Taking a bipolar frame seriously will first point out its own asymmetry because the positions of the US and the ussr cannot be equated: bipolarity obfuscates global capitalist hegemony and the nature of neoimperalist power. This does not mean that one can idealize the position of the ussr, which also aimed to strengthen its own dominance of the Second World and made various political decisions that were to the detriment of the working class and autonomous communist movements and parties in the Third World (Gluckstein 2012).

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However, even if one always starts from the pragmatic and materialist understanding of how the world is, this type of analysis does not offer an understanding of social transformation and disruption of the system on regional and global scales, which entails a political and theoretical urgency to reorient history. In this case, the path of alternative history is identified with the task of the cultural historian to recover the “tradition of the oppressed.”1 But how to read “tradition” if, as Benjamin (2006, 392–94) suggests, it is posited around “discontinuum?” How can tradition and rupture be thought together? For Benjamin, this departing aporia ruptures with the neat teleology of dominant totalizing historiographies (see also Rockhill 2017), while it also suggests that materialist analysis needs to work through diverse internal contradictions and stay open to alternative futures. How can the oppressed become victorious and when? Is the cornerstone of their tradition defeat? Is the historical time of the oppressed the moment when they become states/wo/men? Along Benjamin’s line, I suggest reading the history of the oppressed through ruptures and organizations that emerged on the periphery and through struggles that had a social basis in the oppressed. Most notably, the depository of critical knowledge is produced by those oppressed that are struggling (Benjamin 2006, see thesis 12). The tradition of the oppressed is juxtaposed to “nationalistic” history, to history that is structured as capital, and to history based on closed blocs that fought within the Third World. In short, the central hypothesis is that ruptures make history. Ruptures on a historical continuum oppose a narrative of the linear temporality of the victories of the superpowers with their grand historical personalities and juxtaposes the subaltern subject, the masses, the oppressed that do not enjoy a string of victories but continue from defeat to defeat to a liberation that is never complete. Decolonization, in the strong sense of the word, not only means autonomy and assuming political power but also contributing to deep structural changes that abolish all forms of exploitation and oppression. Decolonial rupture is conceived as a revolutionary process that also challenges a more recent return to longue durée cyclical anthropocene temporality that all too easily prescribes political resistance as futile and ignores the specificity of the age of the capitalocene (for an excellent critique, see Moore 2017). Concrete analysis of these ruptures reveal that it was the struggles of the oppressed that actually ended the world of colonial rule and not the goodwill

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of some enlightened Euro-American elites who had learned some lessons from the First or Second World Wars. As the architect of self-management in socialist Yugoslavia Edvard Kardelj (1975, 10) pointed out, global antiimperialist revolutions were carried out by nations “who want to liberate themselves and assert their economic and political independence. Nations did not want to be the passive objects of global divisions, for they were able to set a much stronger agenda on the historic problems of ending economic and political dependence and hegemony of any sort. Many national liberation and other people’s revolutionary movements in colonies and other dependent countries emerged during World War II due to their own ideas of liberation and not in order to defend their colonial masters.” Such a perspective does not simply see the Second World War as a single struggle between fascism and antifascism, but also as a series of civil and class wars, themselves already part of future (neo)imperialist divisions of the world, on the one hand, and future liberation struggles, on the other (Mandel 2011). The political consequences of Partisan and anticolonial struggles had a major impact on the revolts of 1968. That does not mean considering the events of 1968 in East and West on their own terms, however, without taking into account the ruptures and new historical movements of anticolonial and nonaligned politics; 1968 would have not taken place without them.

Thesis 3: Partisan and Anticolonial Liberation Struggle Cannot Be Reduced to a Telluric Fight for National Liberation but Has Always Been Connected to Deeper Liberation within an Internationalist Horizon. Partisan struggles are, in the first instance, conceived as negative struggles: antifascist, anticolonial, anti-imperialist, and some also anticapitalist.2 Some were fighting against fascist occupation, while others fought against new imperial interventions and old colonial rule, at times even against local collaborationist elites, which meant civil and class war. Despite differences in terms of historical settings and political and economic contradictions, they shared more than just this “negative” dimension. One shortcut from negative to positive Partisan politics was suggested by the fascist thinker Carl Schmitt (2004), who rehabilitated the figure of the

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Partisan and whose work was taken up by some influential leftist theorists (see Kirn 2020a). In Schmitt’s text, the definition of the Partisan hinges on the mobility of Partisan forces, their revolutionary dimension, while strategically the Partisan figure is overdetermined by a telluric belonging; that is, by the Partisan’s belonging to national land. In other words, Schmitt presupposes that each Partisan politics is bound up with the fight for national land/soil. His emblematic examples are the Spanish Partisans, although not from the Spanish Civil War but from the fight against Napoleon. While such a view is in accordance with Blut und Boden (blood and soil) ideology (for details see Kirn 2020a), I also claim that Schmitt’s theorization of the Partisan embraces a construction of “false universality.” Schmitt also aims for destruction of the bipolar world and somewhat surprisingly recruits Mao Tse-Tung as the central Partisan figure that will help to create three extensive civilizations. The Schmittian vision of a new world would then have little to do with his otherwise professed notion of formal politics; rather, Schmitt embraces the distinction between enemy and friend that is globally translated into a profoundly depoliticizing and orientalistic-culturalist vision later echoed in Huntington’s (2011) Clash of Civilisations. Rather than addressing the novelty of experiences of the anticolonial movement or the Non-Aligned Movement, Schmitt cynically equates these movements with “zones of neutrality” that promote “planetary liberalism” (cf. Toscano 2008). In juxtaposition to such a view of the Partisan figure, the experiences of the twentieth century point to a qualitative difference and the novelty of Partisan liberation struggles. They do not share only a negative fight (fighting against occupations) nor are they overdetermined by the “telluric” dimension that would reduce Partisan struggles to their national component. National and People’s Liberation Struggles, Partisan and anticolonial struggles, practised affirmative politics that entailed the emancipation of culture (see also Fanon 2005; Cabral 1974) and at the same time launched a transformative process of the very conception of “the land.” Landless and dispossessed peasants did not want merely to liberate the land from foreign imperial-colonial powers but also from their local lords and masters. This is the process of liberation and not a mere struggle for freedom and nation self-determination. In the words of Partisan poet Franc Pintarič-Švaba from 1942:

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When weapons do the talking, Our poem is loud and clear: “We want to live, to live freely in a free land.” (in Paternu et al. 1987, 294) This short political prescription intensifies the rupture of the struggle in the following discursive chain: to only live is not enough (survival, moral pragmatism, or even possibly collaboration); also, it is not enough only to live freely (freedom, liberalism); our central aim is to live freely in a free land (against capital’s dispossession, for liberation and communism). The Partisan and anticolonial struggles had real effects on all levels of social formations: politically, culturally, and economically. Despite their contradictions and failures, these ruptures were not a simple aberration of “world history,” nor merely a terrain for conflicts between the US and the ussr. This is why I claim that world history should be measured in the light of the continuity of ruptures that actually demonstrate a veritable legacy of intersectional and international struggles (see also Stubbs, this volume). These struggles were, from the beginning, always intersectional, as the various coalitions and struggles of the “oppressed” demonstrate: women’s emancipation, women and youth together with peasants and workers forming new political formations. Finally, these were the struggles of the “oppressed nations” against colonial rule and imperialist politics. Although many of them shared a goal of a national-popular project (Amin 2014), they all had an internationalist horizon, ushering in a major wave of social change (Stubbs, this volume).

Thesis 4: Partisan-Anticolonial Struggles Articulated Their Own Imaginaries and Weapons of Mass Creation The importance of culture for these struggles has been well documented in the respective national contexts and, recently, also in their international horizons (see Videkanić; Piškur and Balmazović; Kolešnik, this volume). From major artists and political activists to militants and leaders of the armed resistance, they were fully cognizant that the struggle needs to win over “hearts and minds” if it is to prevail in a deeply asymmetrical struggle. This was a process that redefined culture as a weapon of liberation. Amilcar Cabral and Frantz Fanon both promoted the importance of culture, sustaining the resistance of

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the people even in conjunctures not conducive to more general political and military action. Combining the return to sources with the most modern artistic practices speaks to a specific “anti-de-colonial modernism.” Above all, this asks what art forms Partisan and anticolonial struggles produced independently, how they combined materials and methods, and whether they also succeed in envisioning alternative imaginaries of the past and the future (for details see Kirn 2020b; Videkanić 2020). There is a vast Partisan and anticolonial production of art, experimentation with new modes of dissemination, and Partisan capacity for new use of scarce materials. For my purpose here, I would like to only take one example from my research on Yugoslav Partisan struggle that encapsulates, at its best, the figure of liberation and culture as weapons of mass creation. This is not a famous avant-garde poem, popular song, piece of graphic art, or famous mural, but rather a rudimentary and abstract drawing produced in 1943 by Dore Klemenčič. The drawing is entitled Partisan Drawing and gives us an acute representation of equality between different Partisan activities: from the obvious rifle we move to a guitar, a theatre mask, and a book that are assembled under the flag of the new Yugoslavia, which carries a star. The drawing expresses the equivalence of different weapons used in struggle and conveys a deeper solidarity between political, cultural, and military work that aims for liberation. Such emblems that synthesized various activities and refined weapons are part of an alternative and “armed” memory of the armed struggle.

Thesis 5: Revolutionary Ruptures Took Place in the Periphery and Intervened into the Asymmetries of the Capitalist World System For Samir Amin (2017; see also Stubbs 2019) the emergence of the NonAligned Movement in Bandung (1955) and the sequence of anticolonial struggles points to Lenin’s old insight that revolutions did not take place in the developed capitalist countries during the twentieth century but took place where the “weakest link” of the system was located: on the margins (Lenin 1964). That this rise would take place on the periphery was not a self-evident fact, and much of what passed for political strategy on the left ignored that epistemological standpoint for too long. The main protagonists of these

3.1 “Partisan Sketches,” poster, 1943, Dore Kleminčič-May.

ruptures were the oppressed in the former colonies and countries on the interstices of the First and Second Worlds that rose to the historical task: confronting the past imperial-colonial frame and the dominant frame of their times, the Cold War. Samir Amin (2017) suggests another important historical lesson, namely that despite the political differences and affiliations within nam – some countries had a more socialist orientation, others were social reformers with a strong state approach, and some were monarchies – non-aligned countries nevertheless became a new historical unity. This historical unity consciously

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intervened into the field of the capitalist world system with its hegemony and market and production allocation. This is also why such a vast orchestrated assault via dominant media, geopolitical doctrines, and coup d’etats followed. The new historical unity nurtured the most vital idea: the urgency of political and economic autonomy in the new world. This idea presumes that new countries cannot simply practice their sovereign will or copy the “West” and/or the “East.” In such a vein, they would soon become subjugated to one of the established worlds that would then sustain their position in providing raw materials on exploitative terms of trade, mono-agricultural goods, or as a pool of cheap labour power. The political leaderships of nam intervened into the asymmetrical relations in the capitalist world system and invested large amounts of social and productive forces in building a viable social infrastructure while basing a new economic order on mutual cooperation and solidarity. Only such a trajectory could achieve the autonomy of the newly independent states (see also Vitalis 2013). Historically, this meant that connections between Asia and Africa were growing in importance while the cooperation between nam and the East was gradually gaining currency. Latin America gets into this process a bit later (see Cosovschi, this volume), most notably with successful armed struggle and revolution in Cuba. Cuba is the first country that challenged the old Monroe Doctrine and, internationally, they supported a more radical project organized around tricontinentalism. Despite Cuba’s intentions, tricontinentalism is often seen as a competitor to Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement. The idea of connecting countries and social movements beyond the Cold War blocs became very influential in the 1960s and signalled the beginning of a new era for world politics.

Thesis 6: From a Westphalian to a Bandungian State System: NAM’s Contribution to Specific Deterritorialization and National-Popular Reterritorialization Browsing through different anticolonial, Partisan, and independence struggles from the past, one thing they all share – whether nonviolent or engaged in armed resistance – is a strong deterritorializing tendency, which meant that the occupationist and collaborationist apparatus was boycotted and sabotaged

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on the one hand, while on the other there was a strong investment in creating autonomous, parallel, national, anticolonial councils of liberation. Some took clandestine forms in the big cities, while others again liberated their own zones, most of the time in the countryside. This was a grand deterritorializing push very much in line with the narrative so well outlined by Frantz Fanon (2005) in his The Wretched of the Earth. The political dynamics of liberation struggles challenged and shifted the political legitimacy of existing colonial formations and, to some extent, even future state constellations. Once liberating zones expand onto the whole territory, we can speak of the end of the liberation struggle and, most often, the gaining of national independence, which implies a specific reterritorialization. However, in Fanon’s dictum, liberation was achieved while emancipation was not, meaning that the deeper logic of decolonization and accompanying deterritorialization remained largely unfinished. In terms of the very political formation of nam, already the tale of its “origin,” either in Bandung or Belgrade, speaks of its deterritorializing beginnings (see Willetts, this volume). It is noteworthy that once nam becomes more institutionalized, the leadership is aware of the necessity to practice and adopt the principle of deterritorialization: nam has no permanent seat but implements a rotation principle every three years, which included all member states and respective changes of the Secretary General (institutionalized in 1970). This can be seen as a major decentring of the centuries’ old notion of the Westphalian interstate order (Croxton 1999) that was always based on a few Western superpowers. The Westphalian interstate order was updated in the twentieth century but clear asymmetries in terms of the League of Nations were sustained in the superpower influence at the United Nations, where the Security Council perpetuated the old geopolitical order. Juxtaposed to this, the Bandung decolonial state system openly intervenes into the tacit relations of power that were inscribed in the European balance of power and division of colonial conquest and the subsequent bipolar order. The non-aligned cannot be simply equated with Partisan or anticolonial movements. At the same time, nam never presupposed a sort of neutral and non-Partisan politics, but rather the opposite; it intended to be directed actively against the existing bipolar alignment that left the newly independent nation-states severely dependent on the respective centres of the blocs (Rubinstein 1970; Prashad 2007). The early 1960s saw nam openly supporting

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member states and movements for national liberation including the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde in Guinea, the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola, and the Mozambique Liberation Front (Prashad 2007, 103–4). It was in this respect that Kardelj (1975) made a clear distinction between wars of the powerful and wars of the weak. This was not a moral judgment but a political criterion upon which one deems legitimate an armed struggle that aims to overthrow the old colonial or new imperial powers and is vested in popular power.3 Unquestionably, nam and its principle of respecting territorial sovereignty at any price becomes questionable and inoperative in the case of civil war and violent conflicts within a country. If we took nam’s major principles of active neutrality and sovereignty, then we might come to a better functioning Westphalian political contract. However, nam also developed politico-economic demands, such as cancellation of debt and a new economic order that would address poverty and economic autonomy and self-determination (in 1973 and 1976).4

Thesis 7: Experiences of NAM and Yugoslavia not only Defragment History, but also Demonstrate a Continuous Political Will That Has Been Countering “There Is No Alternative” in the Most Dire Circumstances The account and narrative of the third way underwent a reactionary historical twist in the 1990s that fully embraced neoliberalism and a final selling out of social-democracy to an “extreme centre” (Ali 2015). Juxtaposed to this recent appropriation of the third way, the historical sequence of nam might still provide a useful source of inspiration and mobilization of a revolutionary past for the future. If there is one example that speaks of an alternative third path that is associated with the independent road to socialism, a critique of both sides of the Iron Curtain, the first state institution of the commons, then it is socialist Yugoslavia and its “partisan ruptures” (Kirn 2019). Countering nostalgic temptations, there are diverse political, theoretical, and artistic initiatives in the post-Yugoslav context that aim at historical defragmentation, challenging right-wing historical revisionism and the neoliberal utopia of the last few decades. Most of these initiatives have either pointed to the revolutionary nature of the People’s Liberation Struggle (Narodnooslobodilačka borba; nob)

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or the specific path of workers’ self-management, while the Non-Aligned Movement has only recently been addressed, most interestingly by cultural and artistic theorists from the post-Yugoslav context (Piškur 2019, this volume; Videkanić 2020; Bago 2021). Furthermore, and alongside any nostalgic temptation, there exists a more deeply ingrained cynical positioning within many current theories of emancipation. As Toscano rightly suggests, these theories often overlook the geopolitical perspective since emancipatory political action and subjectivity are allegedly thoroughly constrained if positioned within a geopolitical perspective (Toscano 2008, 417). I would claim that this absence of global agency that confirms the cynicism of realpolitik has been now replaced by a more catastrophic anthropocene frame focusing on the environmental crisis. From this standpoint, we can only follow the iron laws of (neo)imperialism, capitalism, and the power of brute force – and the long duree of the anthropocene means that there can be no real transformation on the geopolitical level. This cynical view is not only structured as a self-fulfilling prophecy but is often complemented by a view of the angelic positioning of a preference for the micropolitical. After the gradual dispersal of the alterglobalization movement and defeats of key new left figures (Corbyn, Sanders, Tsipras, and so on) there have been some positive steps that fight the climate emergency and the rise of right-wing authoritarianism internationally: think of the Progressive International, the Black Lives Matter–inspired decolonial push linked to social justice, women’s struggles, the Green New Deal and calls for a Universal Basic Income, and the unionization of logistics workers and workers’ strikes around the globe. Against the cynical position that geopolitics does not really matter for emancipation, returning to the Yugoslav contribution to the non-aligned world should be taken as an inspiring trajectory that demonstrated belief in, and realization of, an alternative world in very difficult circumstances. Imagine for a moment the life of a Yugoslav communist after the First World War: despite becoming the third largest political party winning major cities, the Communist Party is banned, its membership depleted, and its leadership imprisoned or exiled; this communist survives local prisons or Moscow trials, fights in the Spanish Civil War, and finally returns to Yugoslavia on the eve of the Second World War. This communist is skilled in clandestine organization and combat and starts an antifascist resistance with a few thousand

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members and very little military equipment. Victorious, they liberate the country relying mostly on their own forces. Being internationally isolated in 1948, being cut out of both the Marshall Plan and Soviet credits for industry, the communist militants help open a path to a different future: workers selfmanagement and the Non-Aligned Movement. These were the intense experiences of a Partisan-communist generation that shared a strong belief in the creation of a different world. This is not an historical lesson only, but an existential politico-philosophical engagement that, despite all defeats and more brutal authoritarian neoliberalism, invites us yet again to fight and believe in an alternative world.

Thesis 8: NAM is a Continuation of Partisan Politics by Other Means and an Integral Part of a “Triple Partisan Rupture.” In my book Partisan Ruptures (Kirn 2019), I argued that the importance of the Yugoslav Partisan struggle is not only in its successful fight against fascist occupation, but in practising a radical encounter between revolutionary art and politics and building counterinstitutions of mass democracy. The figure of the Partisan and Partisan politics in general is not – as conventionally understood in the American context – connected to the entity of party, but has to do with the form of organization – broadly popular alliances of the dispossessed, occupied, and colonized – and their will to transform the existing state of affairs. In the case of the Yugoslav Partisans, the most important historical event that could be called the central “leap into the void” took place without the international recognition of the allies in November 1943. This was the date of the grounding of the Partisans’ own political autonomy on the liberated territory of Jajce, where Partisan delegates from different regions and national councils were assembled at the avnoj (Antifascist Council of the Yugoslav National Liberation Struggle). This was the first Partisan rupture with strong consequences that resulted in a new, federative, and socialist Yugoslavia. This revolutionary sequence extended beyond the Second World War, and I claim that the rupture with Stalin in 1948 can be understood as a specific continuation of Yugoslav “Partisan politics.” The political events that follow pointed to the lasting political capacity of the Yugoslav communist leadership

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based on the strong popular support that was crucial for the two ruptures: externally, Yugoslavia moved into a completely new arena and helped create the Non-Aligned Movement, which was a condensation of various historical sources and forces (see the theses above), while, internally, the break with Stalin resulted in the abolition of the command state and the start of experimentation with workers’ self-management. Despite the various contradictions – workers’ self-management (councils) was launched from above, the Non-Aligned Movement presented a political compromise between vastly different economic and political state formations, and so on – I argue that the new Yugoslavia cannot be understood outside of the radicality of the three Partisan ruptures: the People’s Liberation Struggle, self-management, and the Non-Aligned Movement. The split with Stalin resulted in serious international isolation and the Yugoslav communist leadership was unaware of the series of consequences that were to follow. Starting with expulsion from the Communist Information Bureau (the Cominform) and the imposition of a complete economic embargo, serious political pressure was brought to bear to overthrow the “Titoists,” including military manoeuvres on the northern and eastern borders of Yugoslavia (Haslam 1995 has the minutes of the meetings and resolutions). It is noteworthy that the Cominform was formed just a few months prior to the expulsion, and that its legal seat – under Stalin’s insistence – was in Belgrade, where the very first official meeting took place in January 1948. The meeting brought together communist leaders from across the socialist bloc as well as representatives of the French and Italian Communist Parties. The expulsion of Yugoslavia and the relocation of the Cominform headquarters to Bucharest was a dramatic scandal within the international communist movement that was just beginning to reform after Stalin’s dissolution of the Comintern in 1943. The new Communist International thus started with a split that nobody expected, nor was it understood by Western diplomats and political leaders. At first, the Western representatives considered this split to be a “subtle Communist plot” (Rusinow 1977, 35). Evidently, this position did not aid the Yugoslav leadership in the slightest, for it did not help in the creation of new contacts with the West, which could have led to a new international orientation, nor did it protect its political independence. Moreover, the split with Stalin was unimaginable for a large majority of Yugoslav communists at the time, who found themselves “defying not only

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one of the greatest powers of all time, but also their own past and the belief which had been their only religion and occupation for most of their adult lives.” (Fejto 1952, 57). This led to a schizophrenic universe of communist militants who assembled critical knowledge or even personal experience of Stalinist trials, repression, and geopolitical imperial claims. The belief in the necessary coming of communism and the naïve expectation that the future would somehow miraculously remedy the ills of this painful transition were stunning to say the least. This strong commitment to the communist cause based on a belief in the inevitable communist future and the somewhat blind celebration of Stalin persisted even in Tito, who was no simple dogmatic figure. Tito was cautious enough to escape the great purges in Moscow in 1938 – most probably thanks to his not too strong alignments in the factional struggles that took place before – and he was familiar with Stalin’s deals with the Western allies that were concluded in Moscow and Yalta (Gužvica 2020). In light of expulsion from the Cominform, Tito articulated what was considered to be the prevailing sentiment among the members of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia (cpy): “Some of us continue to hope – against hope, if you like – that this nightmare will somehow pass” (quoted in Adamič 1952, 254). However, the nightmare continued with intensified rhetoric and public denunciations on 29 November 1949, on the date of the sixth anniversary of the Partisan avnoj in Yugoslavia, when the Cominform passed yet another resolution, which severed all political ties. This also meant losing all Soviet loans and the equipment needed to rebuild infrastructure as well as Soviet experts for a planned economy and heavy industries, all of whom left the country. In the years to come, Yugoslavia made a certain rapprochement with the West and with US aid5 and moved from the thwarted regional project of a Balkan Socialist Federation to a non-aligned world politics. I would agree with Rusinow’s assessment that this move towards the West came at a certain price, as socialist Yugoslavia was becoming exposed to the long-term influence of market ideology, as well as political and economic institutions from the West, while simultaneously becoming stubbornly convinced of the “correctness” of its own path, which would later prove to carry a set of negative consequences for internal democratization, the neutralization of criticism and left opposition, as well as a gradual withering away of the planned economy and a stronger centrally organized response in a time of crisis (Unkovski-

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Korica 2016). In the light of the dissolution of Yugoslavia and the wars of the 1990s, the Yugoslav case pointed to a specific quandary, an unresolved contradiction of nam itself; namely, what happens if one respects territorial integrity and sovereignty but the powers involved are very reactionary forces that imagine a nationalist and capitalist (counterrevolutionary) future and even conduct genocide? This is something nam, and more generally the un, failed to answer as the logics of humanitarian intervention and later the war on terror started to dominate the geopolitical perspective.

Thesis 9: From Cooperation and Economic Solidarity to Market Reform One should also ask a vulgar material economic question regarding how Yugoslavia, or any new state after occupation, could gain not only political independence, but also, as occurred in the 1950s, become a potential new, alternative model for other independent roads. This will necessarily connect with some sort of democratic planning (Nkrumah) and thinking about new forms of economic cooperation and solidarities. It was here that Yugoslav trade and production found themselves ready to assist in, even joint planning, the infrastructure and key industries necessary for the development of newly independent, postcolonial countries (see Sekulić, this volume). Even if the overall importance of nam states was not great – in the 1960s they represented approximately 15 per cent of all Yugoslav trade (Lampe et al. 1990) – one should keep in mind the importance of the specific types of exchange that took place between Yugoslavia and these countries. Since Yugoslavia was denied access to Eastern European markets, it had to “integrate” into the global market (Unkovski-Korica 2016). Yugoslavia attempted to strengthen its economy, but at the same time it also invested in the public infrastructure of developing countries, loaned them its experts, and signed loans on favourable commercial terms, often with only 3 per cent interest, which, if not reimbursed, would be repaid through the barter economy or at a much delayed date. Yugoslavia assisted the developing countries and by the mid-1960s invested large sums of money in them. As Rubinstein (1970, 211) stated: “These credits involved deliveries of Yugoslav industrial foods and the construction by Yugoslav firms of more than 120 different projects: hydro-electric power stations in India,

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Cambodia, Guinea, Togo, Ethiopia, and Syria; cement works in the Sudan and Ethiopia; textile mills in Algeria; tractor plants in Ghana and the uar ports in Syria, Tunisia and Ghana; slaughterhouses in Mali, Tunisia and Liberia; a leatherwear factory and food processing plant in Algeria.” There were also other strategic companies that would introduce mixed partnerships in developing countries, from Naftaplin (oil drilling), Ingra (building transmission lines), and Prvomajska (machinery installation) to other big construction companies that carried out large architectural projects such as Energoprojekt (see Sekulić, this volume). The economic model that Yugoslavia developed vis-à-vis nam was one of alternative attempts to establish a parallel economic system based not on profit-oriented criteria but on mutual aid and the construction of public infrastructure, loosely connected to socialist ideas but without direct political control. In this regard, it is possible to note the general focus on the improvement of those capacities that would assist the emerging and evolving countries in their pursuit of independent development (see Ramšak, this volume). Furthermore, Yugoslavia had a range of institutions that did not focus merely on the economy but also on the system of cultural and educational exchanges with non-aligned countries. However, due to the internal contradictions of Yugoslav self-management (Suvin 2014) and the protocapitalist market reforms of 1965, the frame of strategic solidarity was relativized in the period post-1965 (Kirn 2019) when market reform reduced the government’s ability to provide further subsidies and loans to less developed regions and countries. Loans and investments to nam became gradually more profit-oriented while the concentration of autonomous capital within Yugoslavia was given priority in development. In this respect, the most exciting and experimental period of triple rupture (1941– 64) was gradually exhausting itself.

Thesis 10: Fanon Visits nam and Yugoslavia and Argues for Moving Beyond the Idea of Europe and Modernization In one of the most prophetic passages of the concluding chapter of Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth we find a truly genuine idea of the creation of an autonomous “third” universalism, a truly decolonial modernity on which for-

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mer colonies need to embark. For Fanon, the time of Europe and the imitation of that model should finally be over: “This Europe, which never stopped talking of man, which never stopped proclaiming its sole concern was man, we now know the price of suffering humanity has paid for every one of its spiritual victories. Come, comrades, the European game is finally over, we must look for something else. We can do anything today provided we do not ape Europe, provided we are not obsessed with catching up with Europe” (Fanon 2005, 236). Fanon’s project is not a quest for profitability, and it is also not a quest for some precolonial authenticity. In his words, the new project is “not a question of increased productivity, not a question of production rates. No, it is not a question of back to nature … The notion of catching up must not be as a pretext to brutalize man, to tear him from himself and his inner consciousness, to break him, to kill him.” (238). Ivana Bago’s (2021) recent contribution makes a fascinating return to Krleža in his debate on the orientation of Yugoslav art going beyond a dualist frame of either socialist realism or defending the artist’s freedom (academic modernism). If Krleža is often seen as a hero of academic modernism and artistic autonomy, it is less known that two years after the famous speech in Ljubljana in 1952, his position on socialist art shifted again (see also Videkanić 2020, 52–62). Ivana Bago claims: “the rising influx and emulation of what he thought was a reactionary, depoliticized and historically overcome Western European modernism, and especially, painterly abstraction, he reaffirmed his call for a socialist Yugoslav art that would not import foreign models but would instead be grounded in its own material and historical conditions … negation of both socialist realism and modernism as a ‘Fanonist vision of Yugoslav culture,’ a never-realized program of releasing the local culture from its status as periphery and imitation of Europe.” Thus, also in socialist art, there were different models and modernities to follow and, with it, a specific critique of the modernization project and an idea of progress that could be articulated, even if not put into political practice. However, perhaps this is one of the central “seeds of resistance” (Cabral 1974), part of the central legacy of the non-aligned and Yugoslav experiences: the construction and nurturing of economic, political, and cultural autonomy. The struggle for autonomy and search for a new radical humanism has always been deeply invested in the project of emancipation and liberation and can,

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after the liberation, never be entrusted to either state sanctuary or market forces but to continuing political work that expands the horizons of emancipation and decolonization.

notes 1 “The history of the oppressed is a discontinuum – The task of history is to get hold of the tradition of the oppressed. More on these aporias: The continuum of history is the one of the oppressors. Whereas the idea [Vorstellung] of the continuum levels everything to the ground, the idea [Vorstellung] of the discontinuum is the foundation of real tradition.” For discussion on omitted sections from Benjamin’s Theses on History see the contribution of Khatib (2015). 2 Yugoslav Partisan struggle represented the victorious part of the history of the (South) European periphery that started with the revolution in Spain (1936– 49), continued in Yugoslavia (1941–45), and ended with the defeat of the Partisans in Greece (1941–49); for details on civil wars, see Minehan (2006). 3 This thesis runs very close to Che Guevara’s claim for a peaceful coexistence, which does not include coexistence between the exploiter and the exploited or the oppressors and the oppressed (Prashad 2007, 104). For the left-leaning nam states, the discussion of peace was linked to the issue of justice from the very beginning. For a more critical view on the Yugoslav position see Stubbs (2019) and Videkanić (2020). 4 For a great contribution that tackles the Colombo summit, see also Reilly, Vesič, and Vlidi (2016). 5 With the US decision to extend their influence in a divided Europe, Yugoslavia gained US aid and with it a lifeline to food supplies, especially between 1950 and 1953 (see Lampe et al. 1990, 28–30), as well as military assistance, which formally ended in 1957. In 1949, Yugoslavia also received its first loans from Eximbank in Washington (31), with a relatively favourable interest rate of 3.5 per cent. The first loans were mainly used to help set up the oil refinery infrastructure and reconstruct a few mines. In the years to come, the loans became much more profit-oriented, however this precedence of the US helping Yugoslavia enabled the latter to access the International Bank for Reconstruction and Development and the imf, which, at first, granted Yugoslavia minor loans since any major investments were blocked by various American and French bondholders in prewar Yugoslavia (36).

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references Adamič, Louis. 1952. The Eagle and the Roots. New York: Doubleday. Ali, Tariq. 2015. The Extreme Centre: A Warning. London: Verso. Althusser, Louis. 2006. For Marx. London: Verso. Amin, Samir. 2014. “The Revival of the Movement of the Non-Aligned Countries.” Samir Amin (blog). 21 May 2014. http://samiramin1931.blogspot.com/2014/05/ the-revival-of-movement-of-non-aligned_21.html. – 2017. “From Bandung (1955) to 2015: Old and New Challenges for the States, The Nations and The Peoples of Asia, Africa and Latin America.” Interventions 19 (5): 609–19. Bago, Ivana. 2021. “Yugoslav Fanonism and a Failed Exit from the Cultural Cold War.” In Parapolitics: Cultural Freedom and the Cold War, edited by Anselm Franke, Nida Ghouse, Paz Guevara, and Antonia Majaca. Berlin: Sternberg Press. Benjamin, Walter. 2006. “On the Concept of History.” In Walter Benjamin: Selected Writings, Vol. 4: 1938–1940. Edited by Michael W. Jennings and Howard Eiland, 389–400. Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press. Cabral, Amilcar. 1974. “National Liberation and Culture.” Transition 45:12–17. Croxton, Derek. 1999. “The Peace of Westphalia of 1648 and the Origins of Sovereignty.” The International History Review 21:569–82. Fanon, Frantz. (1963) 2005. The Wretched of the Earth. London: Groove Press. Fejto, Francois. 1952. L’ère de Staline 1945–1952. Paris: Seuil. Fukuyama, Francis. 1992. The End of History and the Last Man. London: Penguin Books. Gluckstein, Donny. 2012. A People’s History of the Second World War. London: Pluto Press. Gužvica, Stefan. 2020. Before Tito: The Communist Party of Yugoslavia during the Great Purge (1936–1940). Estonia: Tallinn University Press. Haslam, Jonathan. 1995. “The Cominform: Minutes of the Three Conferences 1947/1948/1949.” Slavic Review 54 (4): 1019–21. Huntington, Samuel. 2011. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon and Schuster. Kardelj, Edvard. 1975. Socialism and War: A Survey of Chinese Criticism of the Policy of Peaceful Coexistence. London: Metheun. Khatib, Sami. 2015. “Walter Benjamin and the ‘Tradition of the Oppressed.’” Anthropological Materialism, Hypotheses, 7 September 2015. https://anthropolo gicalmaterialism.hypotheses.org/2128.

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Kirn, Gal. 2019. Partisan Ruptures: Self-Management, Market Reform and the Spectre of Socialist Yugoslavia. London: Pluto Press. – 2020a. “Tito’s No to Schmitt: Against the Compatibility of the Partisan Figures, against the Blut und Boden Ideology of Populism.” Philosophy World Democracy, 21 November 2020. https://www.philosophy-world-democracy.org/titos-no-toschmitt. – 2020b. The Partisan Counter-Archive: Retracing the Ruptures of Art and Memory in the Yugoslav People’s Liberation Struggle. Berlin: De Gruyter. Lampe, John, Russell O. Prickett, and Ljubisa S. Adamovic. 1990. Yugoslav-American Economic Relations Since World War II. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Lenin, Vladimir Ilich. 1964. “The Chain Is No Stronger Than Its Weakest Link.” In Lenin: Collected Works, Vol. 24: April–June 1917, 519–20. Moscow: Progressive Publishers. Losurdo, Domenico. 2015. War and Revolution: Rethinking the Twentieth Century. London: Verso. Mandel, Ernst. 2011. The Meaning of the Second World War. London: Verso. Minehan, Philip. 2011. Civil War and World War in Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Moore, Jason. 2017. “The Capitalocene, Part I: On the Nature and Origins of Our Ecological Crisis.” The Journal of Peasant Studies, 44 (3): 594–630. Neumayer, Laure. 2018. The Criminalisation of Communism in the European Political Space after the Cold War. Milton Park: Routledge. Paternu, Boris, Marija Stanonik, and Irena Novak-Popov, eds. 1987. Slovensko pesništvo upora 1941–1945. Prva knjiga. Ljubljana: Mladinska knjiga and Partizanska knjiga. Piškur, Bojana, curator. 2019. Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the NonAligned. Exhibition in msum Ljubljana, March–September 2019. Prashad, Vijay. 2007. The Darker Nations: A People’s History of the Third World. New York: New Press. Reilly, Rachel, Jelena Vesić, and Vladimir Jerić Vlid. 2016. On Neutrality. Museum of Contemporary Art: Belgrade. Rockhill, Gabriel. 2017. Counter-History. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Rubinstein, Alvin. 1970. Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned World. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. Rusinow, Dennison. 1977. The Yugoslav Experiment 1948–1974. London: Hurst / Royal Institute for International Affairs.

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Schmitt, Carl. 2004. The Theory of the Partisan. Michigan: Michigan State University Press. Spaskovska, Ljubica, and Ana Calori. 2021. “A Non-Aligned Business World: The Global Socialist Enterprise Between Self-Management and Transnational Capitalism.” Nationalities Papers 49 (3): 413–27. Stubbs, Paul. 2019. “Socialist Yugoslavia and the Antinomies of the Non-Aligned Movement.” LeftEast, 17 June 2019. https://www.criticatac.ro/lefteast/yugoslaviaantinomies-non-aligned-movement/. Suvin, Darko. 2014. Samo jednom se ljubi: Radiografija sfr Jugoslavije (One Falls in Love Only Once: A Radiography of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia). Belgrade: Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung. Toscano, Alberto. 2008. “Carl Schmitt in Beijing: Partisanship, Geopolitics and the Demolition of Eurocentric World.” Postcolonial Studies 11 (4): 417–33. Traverso, Enzo. 2017. Left-Wing Melancholia: Marxism, History, and Memory. New York: Columbia University Press. Unkovski-Korica, Vladimir. 2016. The Economic Struggle for Power in Tito’s Yugoslavia: From World War II to Non-Alignment. London: I.B. Tauris. Videkanić, Bojana. 2020. Nonaligned Modernism. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Vitalis, Robert. 2013. “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung (Bandoong).” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 4 (2): 261–88.

4 “Not Like a Modern Day Jesus Christ”: Pragmatism and Idealism in Yugoslav Non-Alignment Tvrtko Jakovina

The Third World on the Global Scene In one of the early chapters of Roger Peyrefitte’s both praised and criticized book Les Ambassades, first published in 1951, the French diplomat cum writer speaks about the Yugoslav ambassador in Athens. While serving in imperial Vienna, he realized that the representatives of “second class countries” constituted a world in themselves and should not mix with the representatives of bigger states. After the First World War, while serving in Greece, the French ambassador tended to shun the company of diplomats from the Little Entente or Greater Poland. He was not comfortable in the company of Messrs. “Pastrić, Pastek, or Pastaku,” wrote the Frenchman, seemingly seeing no big difference between the surnames of Yugoslavs, Czechs, or Romanians (Peyrefitte 1958, 36). An exchange of a similar nature would be even more likely after the Second World War. Poorer countries gained independence, those whose politicians and diplomats had names even more difficult for the Western European tongue. The citizens of these countries were Black or, if not explicitly so, were not exactly white either. A significant portion had, until recently, been colonial subjects of the European powers. With very few embassies and from cities lacking theatres or universities, a new elite emerged with little or no administrative experience in countries lacking doctors and dentists.1 The colonial legacy still oppressed those who had now gained their freedom. Simultaneously, the new nations were proud, often holding a grudge,

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and fully prepared to clash with the most powerful states in a world that was, after the preceding global conflict, obsessed with sovereignty (cf. Naimark 2019; Lowe 2017). The desire to move away from the colonial past in practice often meant ignoring the fact that the normal functioning of a state frequently necessitated support from richer countries. For this reason, the marginalization of the countries of the Third World was relatively simple. Economic recovery, especially the belief in or hope of catching up and quickly reaching the level of the developed world soon proved to be unattainable in the context of prevailing political conditions. The new nations became aware of their conditional sovereignty in the international plan. Some, such as Indonesia in the mid-1960s, used these sentiments in its advocacy of “New emerging forces,” which was an attempt to bring the philosophy of communist China into the centre of the Non-Aligned Movement, formed in 1961 (Jakovina 2020, 163–4). After the 1967 war in which the Arab states were defeated by Israel, Egypt also positioned itself more towards Moscow and thus brought the Soviet Union into the core of the Movement. During the 1970s, this role was mostly performed by Cuba and some states reliant on the ussr. Tanzania was one of the most active African member states of the NonAligned Movement (nam), led by its educated president Julius Nyerere (in power from 1964 to 1985). Between 1965 and 1968, Tanzania had broken off diplomatic ties with London. Subsequently, its recognition of East Germany activated the Hallstein doctrine within the Federal Republic of Germany, creating a conflict with Bonn, another former colonial master. West Germany had, as it had towards Yugoslavia in 1957, sought a different approach towards East Berlin and had threatened to cut off diplomatic relations – as it did with nine Arab states, given that three others had, due to West Germany’s proIsrael stance, severed ties with the Federal Republic (Nećak 2004, 63; Johnson and Korica 2015, 12). Nyerere said that the Tanzanian people had not fought for freedom only to then be sold off to the highest bidder. Independence had its price; however, one advantage was that new ideas could be considered freely and could be applied based on what was considered to be in the best interests of Dar-es-Salam (Kimambo, Maddox, and Nyanto 2017, 174–5; Liundi 2012, 82). Aid from the West (and later from the East) to less developed countries always arrived with conditions that threatened, undermined, or obliterated national sovereignty (Kimambo, Maddox, and Nyanto 2017, 174–5). This applied to Tanzania, which in turn chose a slower rate of industrialization to

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minimize its reliance on foreign powers. This was the world in the moment Yugoslavia transformed these newly formed nations into important, possibly key, allies in their own foreign policy. There already existed links between Yugoslavia, as it was being rebuilt after 1948, and the Third World. Milovan Đilas, who was, until 1954, one of Tito’s closest associates, wrote in the journal New Thought (Nova misao) about his experiences on a trip to Burma and India in 1953. It was the beginning of the Asian race with history. The poorest, when organized, could move worlds and defeat the richest, as societies there showed. The poverty and hygienic conditions present in Africa and Asia was saddening, but it was not much different than that which could have been, or indeed still could be, found in the Balkans, wrote Đilas (1953, 533–4). The seemingly distant worlds of Yugoslavia and South Asia were similar: endemic typhus, horse-drawn carts, dirt roads, cities without streetlights. Asia would acquire technology, which would turn the “cradle of humanity” into the future, reducing their former colonial masters to the periphery. Asia would start to “run,” and its “limitless human masses” and “endless spaces and untapped riches” would spread their wings. “Asia will get its hands on technology. It will sprout wings capable of lifting up the whole world. And that will be the most wonderful and magnificent movement not only for the majority, but for the whole of humanity” (531). At the time, Đilas saw Yugoslavia as the edge of civilization, but also as a country that, in spite of its poverty, had defeated nazism in battle and had triumphed in its conflict with Soviet hegemony. Asia had the creative potential to do the same. This presented an Orientalist view of not only Yugoslavia, of course, but it was also an expression of faith in the future, no different, perhaps than the way the peoples of India saw themselves (Bakić-Hayden 1995, 917– 22). In all this, Đilas saw a similarity in terms of ideology; that socialism was a road towards the humanization of social relations. The people of Burma had fought for independence and socialist democracy. Yugoslavia had fought for socialist democracy in its own way. A number of states had already chosen a one-party system, and Yugoslavia could advise Tanzania on how to structure it (Public Records Office [pro], London, uk fo 371/146779. C.R.R. Barclay to J.L. Pumphery, Esq. C.M.G., Belgrade, 10 March 1964). Many countries would adopt socialism, many of which ended up with single-party systems. Tanzania, Egypt, Zambia, and Uganda were no longer multiparty democracies. Neither were Saudi Arabia, Algeria, nor North Korea, Cuba, and Iraq.

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Some of the non-aligned countries were more open; however, few in the Third World were democratic in the way this was seen in the West, including Yugoslavia itself (Arnold 2005, 257–9; Jakovina 2011, 640). All of these factors made Yugoslavia “part of Asia in Europe” as Đilas wrote in the 1950s, a natural ally, a friend, and a country that understood those outside of Europe far better than others in Europe (Arnold 2005, 546). It could also see the future and what would come tomorrow better than others. Yugoslavia was European, but everything that had happened to it made it possible for it to see the Third World differently. Indeed, for precisely this reason, British diplomats refused to categorize Yugoslavia among other Eastern European nations: “The Yugoslavs (have) built such an envious perception that if we tarred them with the same brush as we use for the Russians, Chinese, and Cubans, we would be doing far more good for the Russians and their company than damaging the reputation of the Yugoslavs. Many African leaders, especially Nyerere, have a high opinion of the Yugoslavs and often hold them in similar account to the Israelis, well-intentioned, non-aligned adversaries of colonialism” (pro, London, uk fo 371/146779. C.R.R. Barclay to J.L. Pumphery, Esq. C.M.G., Belgrade, 10 March 1964). The Non-Aligned Movement, as it began in 1961, was not the only organization of Third World countries; however, it proved to be the most inclusive, long-lasting, and the most distant from either superpower, whose leading members held an interest in keeping the Movement active. Tito’s Yugoslavia was one of the founders and, during the Cold War, was most actively present in its workings. The reasons for this were always associated with pragmatism; at the same time, its work within the Movement as well as the ideas it espoused had an idealistic component, which Yugoslavia supported and respected. In principle, all countries advocated for the removal of foreign military bases from their soil, although many, either through the presence of American or European military forces, received benefits from these arrangements and did not make too much effort to sever these ties overnight. All were very much against apartheid, despite many of them having economic relations with South Africa. During a visit to Zagreb and Belgrade in 1985, the president of Guyana, L.F.S. Burnham, stated that the Non-Aligned Movement, which had brought the two nations together, stood against colonialism, racism, and foreign dominance, and was in favour of self-determination and economic independence.

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“Our great movement” had become an important factor in the politics of many countries, allowing them to play a “dynamic and constructive role” in solving a range of problems within the international community (Budimir Lončar [bl] personal archive, Speech by L.F.S. Burnham, president of the Cooperative Republic of Ghana, at a dinner organized by the president of the Presidency of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, 15 April 1985). “The Non-Aligned Movement cannot allow itself to forget and say that imperialism is dead,” said Julius Nyerere (Johnson and Korica 2015, 85) in Belgrade during the ninth summit in 1989. These were issues that were crucial to the majority of the member states of nam, and Yugoslavia, as one of the most active and as a European state, readily spoke about this in the name of the largest group of countries after the United Nations. When Yugoslavia helped break through its isolation and secure for itself a path to global subjectivity, at the price of conflict with the most powerful nations of the world, this was a very unpragmatic move. Tito’s cameraman, Stevan Labudović, became a fighter in the independence struggle in Algeria and documented the revolution there. His eighty-three kilometres of film reel and twenty-seven films told the story in opposition to the official line coming out of Paris (see Turajlić, this volume). The film equipment of this honorary citizen of Algeria and recipient of La médaille du Mérite national was exhibited in the hall of great men in the Museum of History in Algiers.14 Similarly, somewhat later, the Yugoslav side assisted freedom movements in Zimbabwe. There, Yugoslavia gave aid to those threatened by the conflicts, while also assisting with education and staff training and enacting policies that were very clearly idealistic and courageous, going against the interests of those Yugoslavia depended on in terms of finance and, in certain cases, security. However, the question was what other body or bodies could fill the pronounced need for the Third World to convene on its own terms: Bandung and the desire to organize Bandung II in 1965; the Organization of Solidarity of the Peoples of Africa, Asia, and Latin America (ospaal) or the Tricontinental, founded in 1966 (Mahler 2018, 58); the Islamic Conference founded in 1966; or even the Arab League, active since 1945, which, after removing Egypt from membership in 1979, moved its headquarters to Tunis. All of these had far more radical leanings, fewer members prepared for dialogue and mutual understanding, and were much narrower in scope and viewpoint (see Stubbs; Willetts, this volume). nam was complementary to these re-

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gional or transregional organizations, forming a global network for each of them, connecting similar countries to those outside the Arab or Islamic circles. Organizations that were more political or ideological, such as Bandung II or the Tricontinental Conference, presented a serious challenge for socialist Yugoslavia. They could never completely replace nam; rather, they could attract some of the more radical or poorer countries for whom nam’s broad scope, and lack of ideological consolidation, could be seen as insufficient at certain moments. The only organization that presented to Third World countries the possibility of independent action, or at least the possibility to make clearer statements, was the United Nations, where nam was, as a group, stronger, clearer, more articulate, and even more principled, than any individual state. Yugoslavia led the Movement from its inception in 1961 to the second conference held in Cairo in 1964 and chaired the Movement between 1989 and 1992. It was the host of the first as well as the last conference of the nam in the Cold War period in addition to having the most active and organized system of diplomacy from the very beginning. Belgrade led an organization that, at least as its politicians understood it, made the world a better place as well as securing economic advantage and strengthening its own position in the context of international relations.

Yugoslav Pragmatism To quote Budimir Lončar on the occasion of the sixth nam conference in Havana in 1979: Our versatile engagement in the struggle for progress in the world, for fundamental change to the established, unjust, and deeply rooted relations between the developing countries and those that have industrialized, our request to form a new international political and economic order might, at first glance, seem unrealistic and unachievable in the near future. However, courage and planning for the future can be the most realistic and rational policy we can have because with it we not only fulfill our revolutionary mission; realistically, we place into the centre of world relations both the question of our security and existence,

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our very reality. This is why our policy is the most realistic, purely because it is optimally engaged in the movements of the world, that we are part of those who resist every global power. (bl, interview with the press, n.d.) Cuba had, for some time, challenged the Yugoslav position within the Movement, criticizing it for not being consistent enough, for not being sufficiently revolutionary, and for positioning itself too much towards the West. This speech was a response that described the policies of Belgrade, its devotion to what it considered revolutionary, but also realistic, even during times that seemed impossible. Yugoslavia stood for a multipolar world. Developing countries were exploring their own development paths, often socialist; however, they still depended upon developed countries. The ideologization of international relations would thus push them towards choosing one side, favouring those who they needed most in terms of their economic and political development. If the world was not divided between two blocs, it would be a far freer one. The idea Belgrade offered to the world was in fact a Yugoslav path in international relations, hence its vehement opposition to the Movement becoming a “strategic reserve” for the Eastern bloc and the ussr. By the mid-1980s, the role of socialist Yugoslavia within nam was “markedly different and weaker today, five years after Tito’s death, than it was in the time he was alive, however it was still very strong,” said the deputy to the general secretary Budimir Lončar. The success of initiatives required far greater “effort, much more thought, and much more time to succeed than when the head of our state and revolution was comrade Tito.” The fall in the attractiveness of Yugoslavia within the global framework did not mean that its position in Europe was weakened; far from it, in fact, although its policies had to change. Then, in 1988, Yugoslavia once again won the role of hosting and leading the Movement. Being opposed to the ideologization of the Movement (see Stubbs, this volume), it stood for the deideologization of international relations, which would, a decade later, in a way, triumph in the world. During the 1980s, a new tendency was emerging, one that also had its negative elements in terms of “the breakdown of an ideology, which was arrogant and relied on necessary changes in the world and was becoming an aggressive Eastern Bloc exclusive conception, now returning as a result of its defeat to a new ideology from the West.” This would not have been good had it been

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true, as there were many Western progressive, left, humanist, politicians (bl, Savezni sekretarijat za inozemne poslove ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretariat, no.427590, stenographic notes from the meeting of the Friends of the Chairperson, 27 July 1990). By the second half of the 1980s, a large number of the goals nam stood for seemed to have been fulfilled. Imminent nuclear conflict no longer seemed likely and there were few colonized countries other than some tiny and, probably, insolvable cases. Namibia had, as one of the last to do so after decades-long Yugoslav help, attained independence in 1990. The Non-Aligned Movement gave impulse to emancipation from a constant striving towards supremacy, not only from the main protagonists of the two blocs, but from all centres of power. Yugoslavia had achieved this “through such emancipation, national consciousness and feeling of subjectivity for each nation that constituted international action” (bl, ssip, stenographic notes from Lončar’s discussion with chief editors of the Yugoslav press, radio, and television, 27 December 1988). A country that had democratic challenges itself supported an equitable, democratic world, raising awareness that “multilateralism was one of the core points of the democratisation of global movements.” When the world reached the positions the Movement stood for, it began to visibly lag behind its own stated goals. nam grew, fourfold in relation to Belgrade, but had become bureaucratic. The number of paragraphs in the final declaration had grown by a factor of twenty-three (bl, ssip, no.437496, stenographic notes from a meeting with members of the Republic and Autonomous Provinces’ Cttee for Foreign Relations, 15 September 1988). “Our ability to act drained more and more into paragraphs (in Belgrade we had 27, while in Harare we had 480 on 150 pages) … so it was necessary to change the approach to the organisation, to decide on what was important, and to modernise the Movement” (ibid.). Thus, in Havana in 1979, Yugoslavia advocated for the easiest course of action to preserve the “core of the Movement” based on its “founding ideas”; just as it felt throughout the 1980s that nam was in need of modernization and adaptation to changes occurring throughout the world. Both moments were directly linked to Yugoslav politics, understandings, and interests; however, it was never really the case that the policies put forward were against the interests of the majority. Eight years after Tito’s death and the Havana summit, after the end of détente and the arrival of Mikhail Gorbachev in the ussr, as well as during a

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period of growing crisis and critique of Yugoslav politics, some of the emphases of its policies towards the non-aligned were different, although discussions about the Movement ended up being more open. Yugoslavia began preparing to host the ninth nam conference to be held in Belgrade in 1989, including, as part of the Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs (Saveznom sekretarijatu za inostrane poslove) Leo Mates, a high-ranking member of the older generation of Yugoslav diplomats, and later a scholar studying the Movement. Mates said that “our interest must be viewed in a completely concrete way.” The Movement was a “base,” given that Yugoslavia was isolated in a Europe divided into blocs while, at the same time, it was neither a Sweden nor a Switzerland. Its work within nam was a way to “acquire a greater level of legitimacy for our politics and position in the world, with which we would build our reputation and our ability to sustain ourselves and to negotiate, or rather to sustain, relations towards our country.” Yugoslavia should not be, Mates suggested, “some sort of modern Jesus Christ, a saviour of the world. Because we neither know how nor are we able to do this” (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretariat, stenographic notes from a meeting of the Consultative Group for Preparation of the IX nam Summit, 22 November 1988). He continued, with an unusual openness: “In fact, I think the Non-Aligned Movement, in this sense, was very helpful, or rather, our policies towards the Movement paid off and I believe that this should be continued … In terms of foreign policy, a country has to be selfish and to put itself first because this is what every other country is doing. It is a type of egoism which is different from some vulgar egoism, because in the service of government, the state, the people, it is understandable.” Yugoslavia in 1988 took on the role of the upcoming presidency, to “save the Non-Aligned Movement because of this, not because we are some saviour, but because it is in our national interest” (ibid.). Aleksandar Grličkov, a high-ranking Macedonian politician and party functionary, spoke similarly at that same meeting. Bearing in mind his career up until that point, he sounded even more pragmatic. Yugoslavia should seek a place in the European Economic Community. One of the leading Marxists in Yugoslavia concluded in 1988 that a market economy and capitalism are the only mechanisms that function in the economy and socialist Yugoslavia should act accordingly (ibid.). All movements live through utopias, and the “communist movement has spent a long time living on the level of absolute

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utopia, and is now coming close and this requires self-reflection, once again, in terms of a concrete utopia.” nam should, therefore, accept the dominant system and aim for its improvement, but the system he was speaking of was the “market system.” This was very strange, but most likely it was a reflection of fears for Yugoslavia and a readiness to seek all possible solutions to the Yugoslav crisis that threatened the country’s very survival. The future spokesperson of the ninth summit of nam, Goran Milić, mentioned the revolutionary technology that threatened the Euro-communists in Italy, France, and Spain. Yugoslavia should no longer call itself the “Third World,” he suggested, adding: Of course, we did not accept this term, but we did not make too much of an effort nor were we particularly successful in getting rid of it. We did not do well with our anti- stance, and I think the countries that were worst off were those that were most radical in their anti-stance. Simply, it needs to be said that we are here, we are part of the world, that we want to exchange knowledge and experiences with everyone without prejudice, that we should be given a chance to enter the world game, and that, we, the Non-Aligned, will, by our actions, prove that we are part of the civilised world, which detests both terrorism and breaches of rights of both individuals and groups, but we will not use this as a bargaining chip in the sense that if you give us some benefits, we will accept this or that. (ibid.) By the end of the 1980s, much of Yugoslavia was criticizing nam as an insufficiently European, unmodern collection of states whose members get into conflict with each other and whose governments, such as in Iran, call for the liquidation of British citizens who dare to write something the government in Tehran disagrees with. For a number of politicians in Yugoslavia, it constituted hope for the country’s continued existence, an acceptance through modernization. For part of the population, it was synonymous with exiting the socialist movement, and for others it was a means to criticize the existing government. Agreeing with these views was then federal secretary Budimir Lončar: “We have to have our own interest … Had we, during the evolution of the

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Movement, not seen the possibility to build up our national interests, it would have been disastrous to have taken on the role of host.” Yugoslavia, unlike many, knew how to communicate with everyone and was able to do so. Algeria could not do so, neither could Indonesia. This was why the response in Washington was “thank God that Yugoslavia is in charge of the Movement, now we can hold constructive talks.” The role of the presiding country, he stated: “can have a positive feedback effect and be a significant component in creating the conditions needed to solve a crisis … The possibilities of chairing the Movement in terms of negotiations with key factors and other significant partners open up a real space for achieving the support for our economic reforms and solving internal issues. Through the activities of the Movement on the global scene, we can valorise and endeavour to realise our own national priorities” (bl, ssip, Basic guidelines on the work of nam and the actions of Yugoslavia as presiding, 6 December 1989). Because of all this, Yugoslavia was an active and important partner to the superpowers, to the nations of Europe, and to its own neighbours. Not all journalists, not even all politicians, knew enough about the world, so they did not read clearly enough everything that was pragmatic in Yugoslavia’s policies towards the world. In the moment of the deepest, soonto-be fatal crisis in that country, the Movement was supposed to provide a solution. After Yugoslavia headed nam for a second time, a larger number of its international partners wondered what the vision of the chairing country would be. Lončar spoke to his colleagues, including Genscher, the German foreign minister, and to the Soviets, thus: With this, the role of Yugoslavia, as an initiator and active supporter of such a policy within nam, gained prominence, both in the Movement and globally, all of which served to strengthen our reputation, our position, and to create a more favourable picture of Yugoslavia than existed a month or so ago. This shows that Yugoslavia is still seen and treated as a significant subject in international relations … There has been a valorisation of our role in bilateral contacts, which opens up the possibility of finding solutions to problems in our internal plan … Yugoslavia has the opportunity to act in political dialogue and, in the name of the Movement, to present the views and interests of more than 100 countries,

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strengthening its positions, role, and influence. (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, no.445264, stenographic notes of the Collegium of the Federal Secretariat, 15 November 1988) Thus, Yugoslavia still contributed to the easing of tensions and encouraged positive changes in the world. In 1989, everyone still admitted that Belgrade had the “quality, range, or qualifications for discussions on broader global movements, especially when speaking in terms of new duties and new positions within nam,” as Deputy Federal Secretary Milivoje Maksić stated. Changing global circumstances, as well as tense relations within the country itself, naturally sharpened some policies, but pragmatism did not appear strongly at the moment Yugoslavia was meant to head the Movement for the second time. The president of Guyana was named an honorary citizen of Zagreb, the capital of the Federal Republic of Croatia, in 1985. With this, he joined a total of ten citizens upon whom this honour was bestowed during the Cold War. Burnham was also the first of only two foreigners to receive this honour – the other being un General Secretary Perez de Cuellar, who visited Zagreb during the 1987 University Games to declare the birth of the 5 billionth citizen of the world (Calvocoressi 2003, 826; Gaddis 1998, 186; bl, Speech of L.F.S. Barnham, 15 April 1985. See also https://www.zagreb.hr/1945– 1990-sfr-jugoslavija/1390, accessed 31 January 2021). Despite its size, Guyana was held in high regard and was the backbone of Yugoslavia’s policies among the non-aligned, primarily in opposition to Cuba. Burnham was willing to speak, to position himself within certain discussions, which was the main reason why cooperation with this small and distant Latin American country was nurtured carefully. The Yugoslav side was very much in favour of pragmatic assessments as to what the interests of the Movement were, in terms of what was acceptable to the majority, although this was also most often in its own interests, too. One of Lončar’s close associates, the former ambassador to Vietnam Gavro Altman, suggested that there was a need for “fighters for human rights and for greens,” at the time becoming more numerous across Europe, to become allies of nam. This was an indication of a pragmatic understanding of the policies and membership of the Movement, as well as what many wanted to see from Yugoslav leadership: modernization, and an opening up to new

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policies and ideas. Yugoslavia recognized this and became a country that would value any useful policies from either of the superpowers, without tying itself to either. It exercised cautious positivity when dealing with Moscow, but not at the cost of tolerating the invasion of a non-aligned country, combined with clear criticism of the West, without this influencing its main policy positions. Yugoslavia responded to other states by understanding both freedom and progress. When the declaration of the ninth summit was being drafted, it was clearly stated that no one would be angry if the Americans had average incomes of $20,000, provided that others had insight into how a rise from $4,000 to $5,000 could be achieved. The same principle applied to the concept of national freedom. National freedom without personal freedom meant nothing. This was understood both in Belgrade as well as in the less developed countries. “However, individual freedom cannot be placed above national freedom. Because then we will not be acceptable to authoritarian regime,” was a very pragmatic conclusion of those working on the final documents for the ninth conference while preparing the non-aligned for a world of the future. “Therefore, individual freedom must be present, but as an aspect of national freedom,” was the line from the Yugoslav diplomatic corps, aware of not sounding acceptable enough to the West, even though this had already been accepted in Yugoslavia (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, stenographic notes from a meeting of the Group to write the Declaration of the IX nam Summit, 10 March 1989). Individuals should not be repressed, however the majority in the Movement ultimately had to accept the declaration. “Of course, we can dress this up with racism, primarily for those with whom we need to know where we stand,” stated the federal secretary very practically. As one of the primary chroniclers of the Movement, Ranko Petković stated, nam was a case of a specific “entity” that proved impossible to be made more operational. Within the Movement, Yugoslavia stood for a revolutionary politics while also being against the ideologization of international relations. Yugoslavia was one of the “most ideologised societies in the world, or to put it more charitably, most politicised, although not always in the best way,” argued Budimir Lončar in 1986 (bl, The Role of Yugoslavia in Contemporary Political, Social and Economic Developments in the World, statement by Budimir Lončar, Deputy Federal Secretary for Foreign Affairs, in consultations

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in the Croatian Central Cttee, Zagreb, 24 January 1986). The stated examples show how the world was understood and analyzed, what approaches were taken towards it, and how the role of Yugoslavia was understood pragmatically, although always within an idealistic framework. One of the most visible positive political results of such a foreign policy stance was the strengthening of Yugoslavia’s position in Europe. From the mid-1970s, the non-aligned and neutral group of countries (the nn Group) led the endeavour of states within the csce, which aimed to go beyond the division of the world into two superpower blocs, maintaining the living “elements of the Helsinki values” “with the aim of achieving as high a possible level of convergence of nam’s work with global and European criteria, as well as its harmonisation with our own national interests, it is necessary to strengthen our activities in global multilateral centres, international organisations, and specialised agencies, as well as paying special attention to the activities of the nn group in the framework of the csce, which would, in a certain way, present an extension to affirm policies of non-alignment in the European space” (bl, ssip, Basic guidelines on the work of nam and the actions of Yugoslavia as presiding, 6 December 1989). The nn group transformed into an institution after the Madrid csce meeting in 1983. “Therefore, it is one of our strategic components which we will keep and, of course, we have decided on ‘Europe as one home for all,’ and even a European Confederation if possible.” Non-alignment, for us, is not a thing of the past as some publicists, or rather journalists of daily newspapers, tend to write. It is for us one value that we have achieved in line with the positions we have held, which was good, however not without problems due to our own failings. Second, non-alignment is, as is everything, a living thing, born in a given time with its own options. It is now transforming into a movement not offering resistance, albeit based on its history of refusing to divide the world. Therefore, it is important to change its objective position. It must become a movement to reintegrate the world. It must be part of a movement for democratization. It cannot be immune towards the need that global integration cannot go on without leaning and understanding economic laws and market mechanisms. (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal

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Secretary, no.437383, 9 October 1990, stenographic notes from a discussion between Budimir Lončar, Federal Secretary, and ambassadors, consul generals, and others, held on 21 September 1990) nam is not at all a handicap, but rather provides “a huge amount of capital for us.” “Genscher confirmed this when he was here. I spoke about this just now in the Council of Europe as well with everyone and the best feedback we received was on account of this. It can be seen from the messages from Baker, Shevardnadze, and from the correspondence with the European Community. It could be seen when the Gulf Crisis started … that nam is still a recognized and crucial actor, in a new way of course. Now is the time to be a unifying factor, a factor of integration.” Yugoslavia should be a central part of changes in the world, there is no time to waste, but rather it is necessary to follow the pace of change on the continent. “We will have to shake off the burden of the conflict of the old and new, both globally and in Europe, and especially within our own borders” (ibid.). At a time when the country was collapsing, its diplomats’ thought processes were modern, rational, pragmatic, and idealistic. The positive policies that the country was building abroad could have pushed it into a new era of international development, but things were falling apart at home, where these policies were unimportant and, indeed, totally discarded. Somewhat earlier, on 9 June 1990, during a meeting at the Federal Secretariat, Lončar stated that the work of nam interested everyone and that the capital the country had acquired would not be lost. “Because everyone is interested in non-alignment, Genscher and Shevardnadze, and others. It is still some 120 states that will not just vanish. They are here. The fact that we deal with them, find some connection point, everyone sees this as something very positive. The fact that our press thinks these two things are incompatible, Job, you will explain this to them.” To this, Žika Jazić replied “I thought we should suggest to Genscher to explain to our media what non-alignment means in Europe. I think that would be more effective.” “This could work, Genscher promised me he would come for a day and I will arrange so that he has a press conference because he is excellent at it, and I will ask De Michelis to come as well. That’s a good idea,” said Lončar. Jazić added to this point, saying “We could invite the editors-in-chief and, instead of explaining things they do not believe, have Gen-

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scher do it instead” (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, stenographic notes from a meeting held on 9 June 1990). This was a clear indicator that the battle to win over the public was lost, as well as a harbinger of things that would later become standard: if someone from outside, from the Western world, praises something of our own, then it is definitely valuable. In the summer of 1991, the permanent representative of the Federal Republic of Germany to the un approached his Yugoslav colleague Darko Šilović, expressing the wish that Bonn participates, with guest status, in the upcoming nam conference (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, no. 426962, stenographic record of the Collegium, 31 August 1991). As the request came from a permanent representative rather than the foreign minister, the meeting host, Ghana, asked the opinion of Yugoslavia. Something like this would have had a significant and important psychological impact, especially on the domestic front; “this would have helped us,” said Lončar. Furthermore, it was necessary to encourage Yugoslavia to be present at the opening of the “Great Man-Made River” in Libya at as high a level possible, given that the project had by that point cost $10 billion. The Yugoslav position is miserable, we have to make money wherever we can, commented Yugoslav diplomats, showing what, in a nutshell, non-alignment had become for Belgrade (ibid.). In August 1990, evoking the non-aligned and neutral group of countries, Lončar stated that Yugoslavia was a “bringer of pragmatism and compromise,” a country that sometimes, through “small steps … advances relations while at the same time not losing sight of the future” (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, no.432117, stenographic notes from a meeting on the csce, 20 August 1990).

Conclusions Similarities in worldviews eased the forming of bonds and connections between distant countries, but without pragmatism it would have been difficult for the biggest international organization after the un to have survived for so long. Pragmatism led states to convene, including the smaller states active within the group, to strengthen their negotiating positions. There were few such organizations where countries of similar viewpoints, as well as of

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different size, wealth, strengths, and traditions, could work together and advocate similar policies and values, or even exist. Yugoslavia quickly recognized this. Similar arguments could probably be applied to a number of different countries, given that there were no cases of leaving nam; Burma’s temporary exit was unique and short-lived (bl, Group of Ambassadors, 23 February 1990; on diplomatic relations with Israel, cf. Jakovina 2011, 238). Yugoslavia had formed the initiative, led the grouping, provided ideas and energy, and most likely had a good deal of understanding as to its own potential and possibilities. The benefits of membership in the Movement outweighed the drawbacks. Pragmatism was common in the different phases of Yugoslavia’s work in the Movement: weapons’ sales was one such policy where good relations with the Third World was beneficial. The possibility of acquiring Western technology and selling it to the East was another. The export of labour and solving unemployment at home was a third. Yugoslavia’s universities had, for the first, and really only, time, due to this stance, gained some sort of international renown and reputation (cf. Jakovina 2011, 639–46; Dugonjic-Rodwin and Mladenović, this volume). Propaganda successes, in terms of soft power, were most obvious. Finally, the Movement showed its infinite capacity to be flexible from the very beginning, before it had been created formally, when it tolerated the presence of foreign troops on the soil of its members. The conditionality was more an intention, a statement of principle, from every state, that they are not advocates of foreign formations, that this was a burden they wished to cast off. In the Yugoslav case, the Movement was prepared to disregard the fact it was a member of the Balkan Pact, regardless of how inactive it was, as well as some other military alliances – with the conditionality of nonaggression. Leonid Brezhnev himself ostensibly complained that the non-aligned were a “cocktail” of the most different possible elements, sometimes visible, sometimes nonexistent. On the topic of Yugoslav policy that aimed to “gain as much benefit for itself as possible, without tying itself down too much,” as Soviet Premier Alexei Kosygin stated ironically to the Yugoslav ambassador to the ussr Veljko Mićunović. Yugoslavia was ostensibly against Israel but was not against the US, standing by its side in all crisis situations (Mićunović 1984, 89, 135). The Soviet premier repeated this to Mitja Ribčić, his Yugoslav colleague, criticizing his country’s “manoeuvring between the two blocs” as to “gain benefits from both sides.” It was logical, understandable, and it was

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only from a purely ideological stance, putting aside any context and reality, that these criticisms could be justified. When Yugoslavia acquired the position of organizing the ninth conference at the ministerial meeting in Nicosia in 1988, ordinary people were unhappy, as the retired ambassador Cvijeto Job said at the Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs (ssip) meeting: “The smarter ones have given the dumb Yugoslav diplomats the burden of hosting the summit. While others save money, Yugoslavia spends it. The Yugoslav leadership accepted the task in order to draw attention away from internal problems so they can say, look, we have succeeded in diplomacy and politics.” All of this drew Yugoslavia away from positioning itself towards Europe, all these connections and successes could not be measured according to what was actually missing (bl, ssip, Cabinet of the Federal Secretary, no.437223, stenographic notes from meeting of the Collegium of the Federal Secretariat, 12 September 1988). Lončar had anticipated this form of criticism when he spoke to delegates of the Federal Council of the Assembly on 17 May 1990. Non-alignment was criticized in a time when the aligned were becoming less and less aligned: I think we would be making an unforgivable mistake if we cannot see a different reality in the positive changes in the world. With new centres of power and strength there will still be a very immediate need for the democratisation of international relations. Let us try to take a view of non-alignment from the perspective of the population today. First, nonalignment grew out of our need to unite around the best and most independent global position as possible. Second, in our firm belief that the world can be stable only if it is based on democratic principles. Third, such an approach has been vindicated in everything that has been happening today in Europe and the world. Furthermore, the viewpoints of non-alignment attract the interest of countries within the existing blocs. Does a country that has been given the trust of 103 independent states in an ever more interdependent world to head the Movement and, on its own volition, see this as a burden? Not at all, it is an honour and an advantage. All the international factors point to this and support our position.” (bl., ssip, Introductory speech of Lončar at the session of the Federal council of the Yugoslav Assembly, 17 May 1990)

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In Europe, it was a time of a crisis of alignment, not non-alignment. “Let us look, finally, at the balance sheet of Yugoslav foreign policy in which nonalignment was a key guiding platform. Is this not the peace which we have at our borders? Are these not the good political and economic relations we have with both blocs? Is this not the position that has secured us communication with the entire world? Is this not an effective contribution, and one that is expected of us, to the csce and the new European architecture through the group of nn countries? Has this not, finally, helped us to secure for ourselves a better stature and treatment within the international economic framework? So, the result of such a policy is definitely positive.” nam enabled Yugoslavia to be active and present, it made its position clear, and “our security across that whole nomenclature was brought into a global focus.” The struggle for disarmament, the strengthening of the un, the technological revolution, North-South relationships, all “our strategic interests corresponding with the interests of over a hundred non-aligned countries, with which we endeavour to break the bipolar tendencies in the easiest way possible, a supremacy born from confrontation, as well as through negotiations.” When Yugoslavia took on the leadership of nam, in 1989 and 1990, twentytwo meetings were planned, in areas where they could act as a leader or, at the very least, as an important state (bl, ssip, Overview of major nam activities and events of interest to the Movement). As could be seen at the General Assembly of the un in 1988, within two months there was a “full vindication of the results of the Summit and the role of Yugoslavia at the 44th un General Assembly.” This is especially emphasized by the public statements of the representatives of Western countries, which, in a number of cases, acknowledged them as deriving from the constructive positions of nam adopted at its ninth summit. On the suggestion of the group of non-aligned countries within the un General Assembly, the resolution on convening a special convention of the General Assembly on drugs, sponsored by 122 states and introduced by Yugoslavia, was adopted unanimously. In addition, the resolution on strengthening international peace, security, and cooperation, jointly proposed by the US and ussr and sponsored by forty countries including Yugoslavia, which was unprecedented, was also adopted unanimously. The harsh and intense criticism the Yugoslav position faced always seemed poorly reasoned, standing alone, and an indicator of the racist undertones of a population that held the view that it was “above” others, often accompanying

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nationalist societies. It was an unrealistic estimate of its own role, importance, Europeanness, everything that would later become clear as day, but at the end of the 1980s often accompanied the nationalism of the final years of the Cold War. Foremost, the high level of international visibility that Yugoslavia had would never had occurred in a world where the conflict between Moscow and Washington no longer led to direct confrontation. Even though the Yugoslav role never became disconnected from external visibility, the fact that it was noticed within some organizations was, for many smaller states, an affirmation of their sovereignty, their success, also. When Zambian president Kenneth Kaunda opened the conference in 1970 and saw the hall with so many delegations present, he began to cry. The country had only been independent for just over six years. Commonly, histories of Africa fail to mention the Non-Aligned Movement, despite the fact that conferences, ministerial meetings, specialized expert gatherings on information, economics, and so on, were held in Tanzania, Togo, Senegal, Cameroon, Angola, Mozambique, and elsewhere. Two northern African states, Algeria and Egypt, as well as three sub-Saharan African states, Zimbabwe, Zambia, and the South African Republic, hosted conferences (Egypt twice; South Africa after the end of the Cold War). Of course, the criticism that this was a formal protocol of little importance really implies that there can be no peaceful initiative from a small and poor country and is thus not worth engaging with. How should the brave endeavours of smaller countries to have their specific issues and concerns become parts of final declarations be judged? Should there be a different view on the activities that international organizations, be it the un, the Mediterranean Union, or nam, take? In the same way that everyday diplomacy and international activity is significant, the answer to that question should be no. If international relations are important, so are these meetings. Croatia, as the newest eu member state, boasted about its presidency of the Council of the eu at the beginning of 2020. The foreign minister even suggested that the venue in which meetings were to take place, but did not due to the covid-19 pandemic, be later turned into a museum for something that he considered, underpinned by the media, a great success of Croatian diplomacy.15 This presidency had no impact on how Croatia was regarded globally, despite the fact that the Government of Croatia financed a special monograph to commemorate the event.

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1 In the Bulletin Solidarnost (Solidarity) issued by the International Students Friendship Club in Zagreb, Babreldin Abiussa, a dentistry graduate from the University of Zagreb, discussed returning to his native Sudan, a country with 14 million people and only fifteen dentists, noting that his training would “come in handy.” Solidarnost II 17, 10 July. 2 http://alger.mfa.gov.rs/newstext.php?subaction=showfull&id=1511634210 &ucat=19&template=Headlines&; Condolences from PR Buteflika on the death of S. Labudović. 3 https://dnevnik.hr/vijesti/hrvatska/gost-dnevnika-nove-tv-ministar-vanjskihi-europskih-poslova-gordan-grlic-radman—-589546.html (accessed 21 January 2021).

references Arnold, Guy. 2005. Africa: A Modern History. London: Atlantic Books. Bakić-Hayden, Milica. 1995. “Nesting Orientalisms: The Case of Former Yugoslavia.” Slavic Review 54 (4): 917–31. bl. Budimir Lončar Personal Archive, Zagreb, Croatia. Calvocoressi, Peter. 2003. Svjetska politika nakon 1945. Zagreb: Nakladni zavod Globus. Đilas, Milovan. 1953. “Istočno nebo.” Nova misao Godina I, 10 October, 519–57. Gaddis, John Lewis. 1998. We Now Know: Rethinking Cold War History. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Tre a strana hladnog rata. Zagreb: Fraktura. – 2020. Budimir Lončar. Od Preka do vrha svijeta. Zagreb: Fraktura. Johnson, Phyllis, and Snezana Korica, eds. 2015. Nyerere, Julius: Asante sana, Thank You, Mwalimu. The House of Books / African Publishing Group / Southern African Research and Documentation Centre / Mkuki na Nyota Publishers / National Gallery of Zimbabwe. Kimambo, Isaria N., H. Gregory Maddox, and Salvatory Nyanto. 2017. A New History of Tanzania. Dar Es Salam: Mkuki na Nyota. Liundi, Christopher C. 2012. Quotable Quotes of Mwalim: Julius K. Nyerere. Collected from Speeches and Writings. Dar-es-Saalam: Mkuki na Nyota. Lowe, Keith. 2017. The Fear and the Freedom. How the Second World War Changed Us. London: Viking.

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Mahler, Anne Garland. 2018. From the Tricontinental to the Global South: Race, Radicalism, and Transnational Solidarity. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Mićunović, Veljko. 1984. Moskovske godine 1969/1971. Beograd: Jugoslovenska revija. Naimark, Norman. 2019. Stalin and the Fate of Europe: The Postwar Struggle for Sovereignty. Cambridge, ma: Belknap Press. Nećak, Dušan. 2004. Hallsteinova doktrina i Jugoslavija: Tito izme u Savezne Republike Njemačke i Demokratske Republike Njemačke. Zagreb: Srednja Europa. Peyrefitte, Roger. 1958. (Rože Perfit). Ambasade. Subotica-Beograd: Minerva. pro. Archive of the Public Records Office, London, uk.

part two

Cultural Politics

5 The Long Durée of Yugoslav Socially Engaged Art and Its Continued Life in the Non-Aligned World Bojana Videkanić

Introduction During the 1929 meeting of the League against Imperialism and Colonial Oppression in Frankfurt, among several resolutions (on Latin America, the Arab countries, and Indonesia), the delegates wrote a resolution on the position of the Balkan countries: “The second congress of the Anti-Imperialist League states that the Balkan countries find themselves in the situation of semi-colonial subjugation under English, French and Italian imperialisms. The loans, the concessions, the financial operations and the military machinations in these countries are the tangible proof of this” (League against Imperialism Archives 1929, author’s translation). The document is important for several reasons. First, it illustrates that, despite the Kingdom of Yugoslavia’s newly attained statehood, the country was still in a semi-colonial relationship to the “Great Powers.” Second, it firmly places progressive political movements in Yugoslavia among the growing international anti-imperialist left, thereby identifying Yugoslavia’s left within the interwar struggles for liberation. Third, it parallels the Communist Party of Yugoslavia’s (cpy) own anti-imperialist stance. The league’s text was echoed in the writings of the cultural wing of the cpy, such as in the work of Miroslav Krleža (1988, 13–14), who, in 1922, wrote that: “the fact that the great empires rose and fell on the shores of European seas, that new lands were discovered, that life changed fundamentally, all this did not concern this life here, nothing.” In this collection of short stories, Krleža wrote about the wretchedness

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of the Balkan periphery, describing its history as a space of continual violence and dispossession brought about by the major imperial powers. Throughout the book, Krleža implicitly and explicitly called for political liberation, stressing the role culture played in that process. Some twenty years later, an analogous joining of imperialism and cultural destruction is found in the speech by Croatian writer Marijan Stilinović, read at the First Congress of the Croatian Cultural Workers in Topusko in 1944. He first offered a description of the Second World War fascist occupation, directly connecting the extreme violence perpetrated by German troops to the destruction of Yugoslav culture and heritage. Quoting a letter found on a dead German solider in which his fiancée was asking for a fur coat and silk to be sent from the Eastern Front, Stilinović (1976, 69–70) offered the following: “We found thousands of such letters … Fritzes need to occupy our country, to kill and butcher, to pillage and burn … That is why they destroyed the National Library in Belgrade, that is why they burnt down the 600-year-old Voćin church in Slavonia … that is why they burnt down countless schools, desecrated our shrines and sanctuaries, that is why they are killing our cultural workers and destroying monuments of our culture … We have to be exterminated, our culture eradicated.” In pointing to both the economic basis for the occupation of Yugoslavia and the ensuing cultural destruction, Stilinović, like Krleža some twenty years earlier, signalled the intersection of imperialism’s economic and political exploitation with cultural devastation. Both men saw culture as an anti-imperialist battleground. The above-mentioned statements on the intermingling of imperialism, socialism, and culture frame this chapter, which seeks to highlight their interconnectedness and continued presence in Yugoslav engaged art. Elsewhere, I have termed postwar art “nonaligned modernism” (Videkanić 2020). Advancing my initial observations further, this chapter places non-aligned modernism within longer historical processes. Contrary to the common analyses of Yugoslavia and the Non-Aligned Movement (nam), which situate this history strictly within the context of the Cold War, this text locates its roots earlier in the twentieth century. An analysis of left-wing cultural and artistic production during the Kingdom of Yugoslavia provides one part of the nonaligned genealogy, while the interconnectedness between artists, writers, workers, peasants, and political cadres during the Second World War provides the other. Furthermore, the crucible of the war fully consolidated vital political

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and aesthetic forces brewing among the members of the Yugoslav left in the difficult twenty-year period prior to 1940. This chapter shows that left-wing cultural workers active in the interwar period continued their work in structuring non-aligned cultural/artistic policies after the war. The persistence of anti-imperialist socialist aesthetic, theoretical, and political concepts among Yugoslav cultural workers between the 1920s and the late twentieth century show Yugoslav culture as a continued project of building agency. Consequently, the first two sections of the chapter consider the interwar and war periods, while the third provides two case studies illustrating some outcomes of non-aligned cultural production. The focus throughout are the artists whose work spans the chronology of my analysis and the theme of socially engaged art and culture. Apart from the longer historical contextualization, another framing element of the chapter is art’s embeddedness in the state-building process. Artistic and cultural work is often situated as secondary to, or dependent upon, political work. When discussing the history of the interwar Yugoslav left, emphasis is placed on the history of the cpy and its struggles to survive, carry on meaningful political struggle, and organize Partisan resistance. Cultural debates are seen as a consequence of those struggles. Namely, while discussions around Marxism and art are seen as important, the perception is that they were not essential to the development of concrete political strategies, thereby omitting important concepts that cultural struggle contributed to the postwar state-building project. Perhaps the best parallel to draw to the role Yugoslav artists and writers had in the Yugoslav left from the 1920s onward is to compare what they did to the work of figures such as Léopold Sédar Senghor, C.L.R. James, Trần Văn Dĩnh, Aimé Césaire, David Alfaro Siqueiros, Diego Rivera, Chittaprosad, and Zainul Abedin, to name a few. What Yugoslav and other artists and writers from the Second and Third Worlds have in common is that they saw culture as essential to the struggle for independence, and they were actively involved in postindependence state-building. Unlike modernists in the West who mostly stayed outside of the realm of states/wo/manship, engaged artists from these nations, at one point or another in their careers, served as people’s representative in governments, became public servants, established national cultural institutions, initiated various ministries and councils, headed cultural institutions, or, as in the case of Léopold Sédar Senghor, headed a state.

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The final conceptual framing device is non-aligned modernism. Borrowing from socialist Yugoslavia’s sociopolitical history, I argue that the cultural and aesthetic practices that developed under socialism were hybrid and dialectical. As a concept, non-aligned modernism is not limited to aesthetic and formal contexts (or how they were canonized within the history of art), rather it encompasses larger institutional and material frameworks. These complex paradigms, which were at different times as much in opposition as they were in unison, are important for how Yugoslav artists negotiated their work in relationship to international art, and their role in building the vanguard nonaligned position. While Western modernism’s influence was indelible, alternative forms of modernism had an equally crucial role in shaping Yugoslav art. Consequently, modernist artistic processes are read through the lens of multiple intersecting aesthetic ideas (abstraction, expressionist realism, engaged aesthetics, agitprop, and others), political projects (the establishment of the Non-Aligned Movement, the building of self-managed socialism, a multiethnic multiculturalist state, anti-imperialism, and antifascism), and international collaboration. Non-aligned modernism is therefore an aesthetico-political category depicting Yugoslav artistic heterogeneities under socialism – the cohabitation of multiple, and sometimes seemingly opposing artistic currents, its lively and varied artistic infrastructure made up of professional and “amateur” institutions (galleries, schools, associations, exhibitions, etc.), and modes of artistic dissemination and presentation that rested on robust state support.

Interwar Art and Culture: Foreshadowing the Non-Aligned Position As hinted above, contextualization of Yugoslavia’s participation in nonalignment needs to be positioned not solely in the immediate postwar period marked by Cold War tensions, but in a longer history of left anti-imperialist political and cultural organizing that started early in the twentieth century. Once the roots of Yugoslav non-alignment are positioned in an earlier period, what becomes clear is that its specific cultural and aesthetic characteristics were articulated in three crucial contexts: first, interwar debates around the role of art and culture vis-à-vis direct political action; second, the cpy’s grow-

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ing tension with the Soviet Union and its negotiation of a bourgeoning independent political position; and third, the difficult sociopolitical and economic situation in the interwar Kingdom of Yugoslavia. To illustrate some of these tensions and how they reverberated in postwar non-aligned modernism, I examine the work of several members of the art group Zemlja (Earth), by far the most radical in terms of their aesthetic and political goals. While over the years Zemlja had different members, Krsto Hegedušić, Drago Ibler, Antun Augustinčić, Omer Mujadžić, Kamilo Ružička, and Ivan Tabaković marked its very beginnings (Depolo 2001). Of these artists, Krsto Hegedušić was, however, its initiator and its most adamant supporter (Depolo 2001; Mađarević 1982). The group’s aesthetic and political goals clearly stated that they wanted to, “combat impressionist, neoclassical and other influences from abroad; elevate the level of visual arts; combat larpurlartism1 (art needs to maintain a milieu and respond to contemporary vital needs)” (Depolo 2001, 13). These goals were fulfilled by popularizing art through active public engagement with various audiences and collaboration with other groups. Zemlja’s first exhibition in 1929 at the Salon Urlich in Zagreb is telling of the group’s expressly political stance. Among the sixty-nine works that were exhibited, most, if not all, were decisively political in nature. The front page of the catalogue contained the text of Zemlja’s de facto manifesto, which ended with the sentence, “art and life are one.”2 The works on display depicted economic devastation in the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and pointed to the culprits: various Yugoslav elites, economic profiteers, market speculators, greedy priests, and the nouveau riche. One of the representative works in the show was Hegedušić’s Requisition depicting a scene in a small northern Croatian village in which gendarmes are taking away the villagers’ cattle, while some villagers are beaten and taken to prison. Such events were common in Yugoslavia at the time because of the economic devastation in rural areas caused by the country’s inability to compete on the international food production market (Bilandžić 1985). Violence, appalling work conditions in factories, the toil and misery of the peasantry and the working classes were contrasted with depictions of the frivolous and debaucherous lives of the upper classes. Other Zemlja exhibitions not only foregrounded the lives of peasants and workers but also invited peasant and worker artists as “guests” and later as members of the group. Franjo Mraz, Ivan Generalić, Mirko Virius, Nikola Kostić, Petar Smajić, and Danilo Raušević all became associated with Zemlja,

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furthering its goal to merge art and life and abolish artistic hierarchies. Franjo Mraz was an example of a peasant artist who was politically active as a member of cpy. He was a self-taught painter when he met Hegedušić in the early 1930s. Hegedušić immediately invited him to participate in Zemlja’s third exhibition in 1931. Mraz, however, did not stay long with Zemlja, opting to exhibit mostly on his own and with Ivan Generalić and Mirko Virius in the group unofficially known as “peasant artists.” In his drawings and paintings of the interwar period, Mraz documented the lives of those around him in a tender and naturalistic way. Paying special attention to the land and landscape of his home in Podravina, Mraz represented how peasants lived, suffered, and died on the land. His work, however, did not gain the same popularity as Ivan Generalić’s, and he suffered financial difficulties throughout this period. On his own admission, the exhibitions between 1937 and 1941 all ended in financial failure (Mraz 1964, 86). Mraz’s feeling of alienation from Yugoslav mainstream art was not unusual as most Zemlja exhibitions were controversial. Controversies arose because of their overtly political and activist aesthetic, which went against traditional mainstream art that was mostly intimate, indulgent, and thoroughly apolitical. In a materialist reading of Yugoslav art of this era, Rade Pantić (2014, 476) defines it as “intimist aestheticism” permeated by unquestioning acceptance of Western modernist styles, ensuring middle-class hegemony. Zemlja’s political challenge to the status quo was therefore scandalous and politically dangerous. It is not coincidental that the first Zemlja exhibition was organized in November 1929, only nine months after the infamous Proclamation by King Aleksandar making Yugoslavia a dictatorship. Artists’ depictions of cruelty on the one hand, and debauchery on the other, were a direct attack on the state. Most artists in the Zemlja circle were either sympathizers or full members of the cpy and were therefore directly targeted by the right-wing and centrist media, critics, and politicians (Depolo 2001, 32–4). To add to this, Zemlja became embroiled in yet another controversial political debate when, in 1933, Miroslav Krleža wrote the introduction to Krsto Hegedušić’s exhibition of drawings entitled Podravski motivi. This became the spark that led to an almost twentyyear-long conflict among left-wing intellectuals in Yugoslavia. Hegedušić’s drawings were some of the darkest and most expressive that the artist made to date, overtly attacking the state, while Krleža’s text attacked the aesthetic and political “dilettantism” of some on the left and empty larpurlartism and

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provincialism of modernists (Krleža 1933, 14). Artists, writers, political figures, and journalists embroiled in this contentious debate over the role of art in political work were associated with different factions within cpy’s cultural wing. Most of them became important political figures in socialist Yugoslavia, shaping its political and artistic future. Why was this conflict important? It took place during King Aleksandar’s dictatorship, as the cpy faced violent repression with many of its political cadres imprisoned. Because the cpy was made illegal, its overt political work was impossible, and the only public outlet for left ideas was through literary journals. As a result, the conflict provided a critical juncture for the role of art in politics. A strong, pro-Soviet current on the Yugoslav left supported a more openly didactic, agitational art practice, while another, led by Miroslav Krleža, advocated a dialectical relationship between politics and art. The latter option was based on a hybrid understanding of art practice, which rejected instrumentalized aesthetics promoted in some socialist realist painting and literature, as it also rejected the larpurlartism of European bourgeois artists: “In observing European visual culture and literature of the second half of the nineteenth century and first thirty years of the twentieth, an era unanimously asserted as typically middle-class and with middle-class culture, it would be difficult to in a few words determine what is ‘social’ in these years” (ibid., 14–15). As noted elsewhere (Videkanić 2020, 53–8), the conflict was complex and heated but ultimately achieved several important things that were key to how Yugoslav art would develop after 1945. One was that Yugoslav art had to stand on its own, to be neither socialist realist nor fully modernist (or readily accepting Western modernism). The second point was that Yugoslav’s autochthonous art (something that Krleža advocated for; Krleža 1933, 16; 1973, 333) needed to be rooted in the country’s history (one often filled with misery and violence) and its cultural and aesthetic forms, local traditions found in folklore, vernacular architecture and design, and oral poetry (Vojnović 1992, 14). Finally, was that this art is dialectical, embedded in materialist understandings of the world. As a witness to the conflict and its chronicler later on, Vlado Mađarević asserted in 1974 that both sides were in fact correct in their understanding of art’s position vis-à-vis the political, if art is understood in “relative rather than absolute terms,” so that certain eras demand more openly agitational art because a society might be in a situation of crisis

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(the way that Yugoslav artists were in the service of the Partisan struggle during the war), and at other times of “calmer social flows” more autonomous and introspective art is possible (Mađarević 1974, 19). This conflict on the cultural left revealed that Yugoslav engaged artists wrestled with issues that reverberated across the world, especially those who were on the peripheries of the Western modernist ethos. The work that members of Zemlja produced, work which in many ways sparked the initial conflict, work which probed art hierarchies, questioned concepts of professional and institutional art, and welcomed and adopted influences from the vernacular and local traditions, exemplified the struggle of artists who were outside of the major artistic currents. In her astute study of political art in India between the 1930s and 1970s, Sanjukta Sunderason (2020) analyzes the work of artists connected to leftwing politics and how they negotiated questions of tension between art and politics. In a passage on critical writing on Jamini Roy’s painting, Sunderason states: “Between 1936 and 1944, a passive participation in the political found in writings on Jamini Roy offers an early political history of what would be consolidated as progressive art from the late 1940s. This history grew out of vernacular forums that localized a global conversation around socialist aesthetics … This locational discourse sought to assimilate folk imagery with the modernist subjectivity of an artist like Roy, using ideas of organic integration between art and society, without participating in idioms of socialist realism that had already taken root in global left-wing cultural circuits.” (76). Here we see how, in both Yugoslavia and India, artists were confronted with the questions of circuits of influence, having to negotiate a tension between local political and social needs and modernism’s universal demands. It is precisely that tension, palpable in the heated discussions around autonomous and engaged art in Yugoslavia, that became a catalyst for the opening up of Yugoslav art to heterogenous and eclectic artistic forms after 1945. Having elaborated aspects of the interwar left artistic context, let me return to a point I made earlier – that we could read events and contexts of interwar engaged art as the vanguard of the Yugoslav non-aligned political trajectories. One of the key theoretical and practical ideas we can glean by looking at the debates on the left of this period is that there was a very strong emphasis on the importance of finding local responses to modernist and socialist realist tendencies; in other words, finding independent answers to problems of po-

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litical and aesthetic work. In addition, through Miroslav Krleža’s dialectical critique of modernism and socialist realism, we sense an undercurrent of an anti-imperialist understanding of culture and cultural hegemony. Both points were initiated through Krleža’s public writing on art; however, these were not yet readily visible in the political work of the cpy and its cadres. In fact, Krleža’s call for a uniquely Yugoslav response to the political and aesthetic crisis of the 1930s was still not understood by the cpy’s political leadership. Given that the only true public outlet for communication and development of left-leaning ideas was through literary and cultural magazines, what becomes obvious is that these ideas, shaped through the debates on the cultural left, foreshadowed Yugoslavia’s non-aligned politics formulated almost thirty years later. Embodied in the works of the Zemlja group and conceptualized by Krleža was the vanguard position of Yugoslav politics. The looming catastrophe of the 1940s further crystalized this stance as Yugoslavs fought for their independence.

NOB and Political and Revolutionary Artwork After the April 1941 occupation of the Kingdom of Yugoslavia and its disintegration, the cpy began full organization of the resistance. Once the resistance began, cultural workers involved in interwar left-wing artistic and political debates responded to the occupation in divergent ways; some remained in the cities fighting underground, others went into “the woods” and participated in the formation of the People’s Liberation Forces. Others still were relatively uninvolved, remaining under the radar of fascist forces, including Miroslav Krleža and Ivan Generalić. The war added another layer of difficulty to the already precarious situation Yugoslavia was in prior to 1941. The divided left of the interwar period now coalesced as the fascist occupation furthered the already miserable economic and political situation in Yugoslavia, giving first and foremost the cpy, but also other left-wing groups, something to unify against. As I have argued elsewhere (Videkanić 2020, 116), the Partisan liberation struggle under the leadership of the cpy was tripartite in nature: a struggle against fascist occupation; a class struggle for communist revolution; and a struggle for independence, as even in its previous short iteration as the Kingdom of Yugoslavia (1918–41), the country was in effect a

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semi-colonial client state.3 Consequently, when the cpy organized resistance to fascist occupation, it was concurrently initiating an independent statebuilding project, which was one of the driving forces behind the cpy’s plans, a point of contention with the Soviet Union. Foregrounding the motivations that guided antifascist resistance in Yugoslavia illustrates that their goals and strategies during the war mirrored and anticipated struggles for independence in other parts of the world. Consequently, this experience became a point of connection and understanding that brought Yugoslavia and its non-aligned allies together (Stubbs; Kirn, this volume; Videkanić 2020, 116, 151–60). Placing Yugoslav antifascist resistance within an anti-imperialist discourse explains the often-posed question of why Yugoslavia engaged in the founding of the Non-Aligned Movement in the first place. Cedric Robinson’s (2000) work on Black Marxism is useful in providing some context to Yugoslavia’s position vis-à-vis the non-aligned and more broadly the Third World. Robinson analyzes capitalism not as a new economic form replacing feudalism in Europe but as a continued process of internal colonization within Europe itself that eventually extended and expanded to other parts of the world. Robin D. Kelley (2017) succinctly summarized Robinson’s premise: “Robinson suggested that racialization within Europe was very much a colonial process involving invasion, settlement, expropriation, and racial hierarchy. Insisting that modern European nationalism was completely bound up with racialist myths, he reminds us that the ideology of Herrenvolk (governance by an ethnic majority) that drove German colonization of central Europe and ‘Slavic’ territories ‘explained the inevitability and the naturalness of the domination of some Europeans by other Europeans.’” Nationalist, racist mythology therefore provided justification for expansion and colonization to the Balkan periphery. These points were already articulated in the 1920s when the League against Imperialism placed the Balkans on its agenda, including the territories in its political demands. Furthermore, the Second World War stripped away all pretense that the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was an independent state, revealing violent processes of exploitation initiated much earlier. This context is important to understanding both the cpy’s actions during and after the war and the motivations and practices of artists during this difficult period. Visual artists were front and centre during the war. In her overview of war art, historian Nada Šuica (1969) notes that there were approximately two hun-

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dred and thirty artists in active combat; there were, also, many imprisoned in concentration and prisoner of war camps across Yugoslavia, Italy, and Germany. Some died, such as Daniel Ozmo (executed in Jasenovac Concentration Camp) and Mirko Virius from the group Zemlja (executed in Zemun concentration camp). The number that Šuica gives is significant considering that in 1954 there were six hundred and ten artists altogether across Yugoslavia (Archives of Yugoslavia [aj], Fund 318, Box 147, “Savez likovnih umjetnika Jugoslavije-Dopis SIV-u: Problem materijalnog obezbedjenja likovnih umetnika Jugoslavije,” Savezni Sekretarijat za obrazovanje i kulturu, 1954–1967), which means that effectively one third of visual artists in Yugoslavia participated in the Partisan struggle. She also notes that there was a direct link between artists’ participation in the antifascist struggle and their prewar participation in left politics (Šuica 1969, 64). Apart from visual artists, there were writers, musicians, and actors. Of these, the key figure was Koča Popović, who not only led one of the Partisan brigades, but also participated as a delegate in the first Anti-Fascist Council for the National Liberation of Yugoslavia (avnoj) in 1942, was in the presidium of the second avnoj in 1943, and was in the government of socialist Yugoslavia after 1945. Franjo Mraz and Antun Agustinčić, two members of Zemlja group, were also delegates at the second avnoj in 1943. Artists fully participated in combat and governance; however, their primary role was in agitprop and propaganda work. They organized exhibitions, designed posters, documented life in the liberated territories, created set designs, held concerts, wrote plays and books, and edited newspapers and magazines; in short, they organized the entire cultural life (Miletić and Radovanović 2016). Of note for their logistical complexity were exhibitions organized in the freed and occupied territories. An exhibition in the home of Marin Studin, organized in occupied Split in 1943, was particularly interesting because it is one of the rare, recorded examples of underground exhibitions. Among several artists whose work was shown were sculptures by Ivo Lozica, executed by fascists only a couple of weeks before the opening (aj, Fund 318, Box 147, “Kongres likovnih umjetnika Jugoslavije, decembar 1947” Savezni Sekretarijat za obrazovanje i kulturu, 1954–1967). According to the archival material, there were seventy pieces on show (sculptures, drawings, and paintings), and some two thousand visitors attended between March and September 1943. Five more exhibitions were organized in Croatia between April 1944 and April 1945.4

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While the activities artists engaged in were a proof of their commitment to political struggle, the aesthetic and conceptual nature of the work produced spoke to the ways this art resolved some of the theoretical debates from the late 1920s and 1930s. Since some of the most politically engaged artists of the interwar period, including almost all members of Zemlja, ended up among the Partisans, it bears highlighting a few examples of their work to show the continuities in Yugoslav engaged aesthetics. Of these, Franjo Mraz was the quintessential example of an engaged Yugoslav artist in the interwar and war periods. During the war, he was very active in poster-making, illustration, and depicting combat. As a key member of the peasant and worker artists around Hlebinska škola, and associated with Zemlja, Mraz’s commitment to the political role of everyday life in art did not falter. Even though only a few examples of Mraz’s drawings survived war, they show how his political vision persisted in lyrical and powerful lines and tense compositional solutions of the works. In Poslije večere (After Dinner) from 1943 and Bolnica (Hospital) from 1944, as in his drawings of interwar scenes of peasants tilling the land, Mraz takes great care to document the mundane moments of Partisans resting after combat or convalescing. These are not grand images of victory and struggle but snapshots of actuality, the difficulty of life in Partisan units. Though later Yugoslav art history deemed this type of work socialist realist, in reality, its formal and conceptual structure was different. Partisan art during the war best represents what Miroslav Krleža (1952, 331–33) called “autochtonous” art, which responded to unique Yugoslav historical and material circumstances. Especially during the war, these circumstances were brutal and artists did not shy away from representing violence. Another member of Zemlja, Marjan Detoni, provides a similar uniquely Yugoslav conceptual and formal solution to representation of the brutality of war. Between 1941 and 1942, he created a series of prints simply entitled U. The title references the gruesome Ustaše military sign, pointing to the content of the map that depicted the mass atrocities and genocide the Ustaše committed on the territories of Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, and parts of Serbia. These seemingly simple linocuts represent the artist’s immediate responses to the events he himself witnessed while a Partisan. Brutal depictions of death and dying, prisoners, torture, rape, and hangings prevail. The

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horror-like nature of the series is unflinching in its depiction of what was taking place in Yugoslavia. There are no superwomen and men in his prints; what we see are people who have been abused and systematically killed. Technical limitations of linocut, the harsh, stark black and white contrasts, were skilfully used by the artist to accentuate brutality. As in the interwar period, both Mraz and Detoni used expressive realism that did not romanticize their subject matter. Other artists followed a similar formal path. Severe material shortages, life in combat, difficulties of everyday life such as disease, malnourishment, and other wartime struggles, while limiting artists in a formal sense, were also a catalyst for fully realizing the conceptual basis for this kind of work. Interwar questions around the relationship of art to political work, and art to life, suddenly were no longer theoretical; artists were not just documenting war or creating agitprop, they were making art in order to survive. Artwork of this period was therefore committed to a different kind of goal succinctly expressed in Branko Šotra’s report read out at the Congress of Yugoslav Visual Artists in 1947: “Our visual art has been placed in a new situation by the attack of fascist enslavers (oppressors) … At that point, the question was no longer just about right or wrong art, it was about the fate of art in general, about the fate of the people” (aj, Fund 318, Box 147). Šotra’s poignant analysis brings forth survival as the driver of artistic production under occupation. The role of art in crisis was therefore both essential, as the cpy recognized, and symbolic. The form of engaged realist art that came out of that essential nature of its existence was one that could not have been removed from the suffering that gave birth to it. Discussions of imperialism and Marxism featured prominently in the cpy’s political work and were certainly front and centre of antifascist struggle. The attitudes of artists on these points have been less studied. There is, however, no lack of documentation of what artists thought about imperialism. Demonstrated by the writings of Miroslav Krleža and interwar debates on the left, the relationship between imperialism and modernism was part of Yugoslav artistic discourse well before the Second World War. Archival documentation from the war period shows continued discussion among Yugoslav artists on the topic. During the Congress of Yugoslav Visual Artists in 1947, imperialism was referenced in reports submitted and the ensuing discussions. Again,

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Branko Šotra offers a telling illustration: “The more ruthlessly, aggressively, and cynically the face of imperialism shows itself, the more humanity and nature are evacuated from art. While such art is greatly favoured, even boasting of being ‘revolutionary,’ it shows poisonous tendencies and reveals spiritual ruin. Disguised under the façade of Western democracies, imperialist forces are attacking the sovereignty of other peoples, wage wars of enslavement against peoples fighting for their rights” (ibid.). Clearly, Yugoslav artists were aware of cultural imperialism and that their own aesthetic goals were invested in combating it. In form, content, and political stance, the discourse of Yugoslav engaged art was in line with similar aesthetic currents across the world; Mexican muralists and Indian artists associated with the Communist Party of India (cpi) are the two most obvious connections. David Alfaro Siqueiros’ writing on muralism and the Mexican Revolution are particularly telling. In one of his more famous lectures held at the Escuela Nacional de Bellas Artes in Lima, Peru, in 1943, Siqueiros defines and contextualizes Mexican muralism within the political climate of both decolonization and rising class consciousness in Mexican artistic circles (icaa 1943). Muralism, with its formal approaches rooted in realist forms, represented the convergence of forces that led to their potent enunciative power. At the end of the lecture, Siqueiros connected the Second World War to the Mexican experience of fighting for independence, leading him to conclude that the common enemy of Latin American artists and other progressives was fascism (ibid.). Analyzing Siqueiros’ lifetime commitment to politics, art historian Jennifer Jolly (2012, 75) writes: “He adopted a ‘citizen-artist’ persona, rejecting avant-garde autonomy in exchange for a public role; he sought to make murals ‘communist,’ casting not just content but also production and reception, in ideological terms.” In her discussion of Siqueiros’ original designs for the 1939–40 murals for the Mexican Electricians’ Union, Jolly points to how Siqueiros conceived one of the murals as “a monumental filmic narrative of capitalism generating fascism and imperialist war” (82). For Siqueiros, as for Yugoslav artists of the 1940s, political art was not a choice but a necessity in order to confront fascism and imperialism. We can recognize a similar connecting political thread in India. Describing the deeply political work of Chittaprosad and his connections to the Communist Party of India’s work in rural areas, Sanjukta Sunderason (2020, 91) offers this description of how the artist (with the party’s support) linked raising class con-

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sciousness and antifascism: “Chittaprosad’s posters were exhibited in travelling exhibitions in villages surrounding Arakan Road linking Chittagong with the borders of the Arakan, and became part of Anti-Fascist Volunteer Units of peasants and villagers for self-defence.” She observes that Chittaprosad’s “posters were often displayed alongside subversive works of peasant artists” (91–2) combining a critique of the food crisis of 1942–43 with a critique of imperialism, capitalism, and Japanese fascism. Later in the twentieth century, there was nevertheless a certain ambivalence in the reception and historicization of such engaged artworks. As postwar aesthetic imperatives shifted towards late modernist forms amid Cold War political tensions, highly engaged political art of this sort was often condemned as either too ideological or mimetic and therefore lacking in conceptual or formal strength. When art historian Chika Okeke traces the development of Nigerian modernism, he rejects certain historiographical narratives that depict African modernism as nothing more than a mimetic expression of forms of European art. In Okeke’s view, such modernist works need to be seen in the context of colonial hegemony, arguing that African modernism developed despite colonial influence of European art, doing so on its own terms. Paralleling similar discussions around the literary movement of Négritude, Okeke (2015, 29) states: “In a strategy that signalled the beginnings of a modern postcolonial subjectivity, the poets of Négritude, on a quest for a critical voice, adopted aspects of French surrealism and rhetorical strategies from France’s political and intellectual left. Yet their cultural and political agendas obviously differed from those of the French; they were, so to speak, co-travellers, in a parallel time, heading to different destinations.” Artists such as the painter, art educator, and politician Sam Ntiro were expressing the need to decolonize art, to establish art education based on situated African experience and social contexts as well as within the larger politics of decolonization (Kingdon 1967). Similarly wrestling with the questions of representational art in relationship to the overwhelming power of modernist abstraction, Ntiro wrote in 1964: “Between the African student of art today and that African past are dazzling colours of European art history. The recipe is served for four years at Makerere Art School without a single mention of East African artistic past” (quoted in Salami and Visonà 2013, 268). In his criticism of Eurocentric education and support for the creation of a uniquely East African art, Ntiro added his socialist views that support for

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local art should come through state intervention into art education by proposing such reforms as “government regulation of outside influences, such as the import of foreign art teachers, and state control over the production and dissemination of artifacts” (ibid). Clearly, Ntiro also believed in art’s intermingling with politics and nascent statehood. Even though the debates Ntiro mentions took place in East Africa in the 1960s (as opposed to Yugoslav discourses during 1940s), the parallels are nonetheless there. What we see taking place across three different continents – Eastern Europe, Latin America, and East Africa – are discussions around the necessary responses to modernist hegemony led by specific formal and aesthetic demands for artists to be perceived as part of the international avant-garde and modernism in general. Yugoslav art of the war era rejects this demand made by Western modernism since Yugoslav art existed on an entirely different material and historical grounding to that of the West and therefore artistic responses to the demands of the moment had to be different – in short, not removed from politics. Yugoslav artists, like those in Mexico, Nigeria, India, or other countries, could not afford the aloofness of Western avant-gardes as they all, literally, fought for their lives. Unfortunately, late twentieth century art criticism and historiography has most often measured these kinds of artworks from a strictly formalist and autonomist stance (Sanyal 2013; Folgarait 2009; Lukić 1975; Protić 1980). In high modernist aloofness, Mexican muralists’ political views were problematic, presenting an impediment to the overall artistic valuation of their work; in the case of Yugoslav engaged artists, late modernist criticism rejected such work as too ideological, their politics all too unsightly; finally, in the case of African artists such as Ntiro, formalist criticism rejected his art on the basis of its lack of “academic competence.”

Non-Aligned Aesthetic Strategies The two periods in the history of Yugoslav engaged art and its contexts that I have described provide a genealogy central to understanding Yugoslavia’s involvement with both non-aligned culture and the Non-Aligned Movement in general. In this last section, I take a closer look at how the politically engaged art mentioned previously survived in the post–Second World War era, and how it featured in rising international, global, art. More importantly, I high-

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light two examples of cultural exchange between Yugoslavia and other countries (especially nam countries) that signal attempts by nam cultural workers to counter what Trần Văn Dĩnh (1976) has called “cultural imperialism.” I pay special attention to the artists whose work I believe formally, conceptually, and politically questions the Western hegemony of modernist art. These artists were represented in two exhibitions that I analyze in this section: Peace, Humanism and Friendship organized in Slovenj Gradec in 1966 and The People’s War of Liberation in the Work of Yugoslav Artists organized in 1975, which toured two cities in Algeria. The two examples are important as each highlights a different aspect of how engaged art became contextualized in postwar international culture and within non-alignment. The 1966 exhibition Peace, Humanism and Friendship was an eclectic and ambitious project that sought to put a small town of about six thousand inhabitants on the world map. In the 1960s, Yugoslavia was on an economic, political, and cultural upswing, investing considerable funds into international cultural cooperation. The newly established Koroška Galerija Likovnih Umetnosti (Koroška Gallery of Fine Arts; kglu) benefited from the state’s generous cultural policy. The gallery’s mandate coincided with Yugoslavia’s cultural diplomatic philosophy of “coexistence,” defined by Marko Ristić (1956), the head of the Yugoslav Committee for International Relations, who influenced cultural policy for many years. In Ristić’s programmatic essay, coexistence was a form of cultural policy based on notions of interdependence, independence, mutual respect, and participation in international cultural organizations such as unesco and icom. kglu benefited from these mandates, embedding them into its core programming. Peace, Humanism and Friendship was the first exhibition to fully epitomize the gallery’s stated goals. Among some two hundred and fifty artists from forty different countries, there was a large contingent of Yugoslav artists, a good number of artists from Cuba and other nam countries, as well as countries of the Eastern bloc, with the notable absence of China. Big names of Western art were also represented, such as Victor Vasarely and Ossipe Zadkine. The open and internationalist outlook of the exhibition was further buttressed by unesco’s sponsorship and an international jury (“Mir, humanost” 1966). The exhibition’s eclecticism was expressed in the range of artworks exhibited: contemporary abstract paintings and sculptures by major Western modernists; paintings by peasant artist Ivan Generalić; sculptures by an African

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folk artist; politically engaged works depicting the Second World War and social themes by Ive Šubić, Frano Šimunović, Krsto Hegedušić, and Marijan Detoni; and abstract expressionist work by Cuba’s René Portocarrero and Syria’s Mahmoud Hammad (ibid.). In her analysis of the exhibition, Andreja Hibernik (2016, 181) singled out two museological strategies that made this particular exhibition, and several subsequent ones, successful examples of engaged curatorial work: “active involvement of the local audience through organizational boards, such that the community became part of both the program and the exhibition; and a clear formulation of humanist values as the underlying motivation for the undertaking, which lent the events a sense of purpose.” Despite tensions with some curatorial decisions, for example exhibiting several African sculptures without proper context and clumsy placement of some artwork, the overall effect of the exhibition was positive, reflecting the openness of Yugoslav culture to various, even contradictory, influences. The persistence of engaged political art in the work of Krsto Hegedušić and Marijan Detoni was also telling of the continued importance of the socialistengaged aesthetic in Yugoslavia. While Peace, Humanism and Friendship might not have been on the cutting edge of contemporary art of the time, its inclusiveness, collaboration with the local population in terms of organizing and programming, and breaking art hierarchies by including nonacademically trained artists, can all be interpreted as transgressive of the modernist representational modes – the model of the clean white cube in which a curator hand-picks monumental, contemporary art. These varied, politically motivated, and, as Hibernik (2016, 181) qualifies them, “utopian” exhibiting practices were exemplary of the continued commitment by Yugoslav cultural workers to ideas of anti-imperialism, equality, and non-alignment. A very different exhibition, with a different intent and audience, was an exhibition of Partisan art sent to Algeria in 1975 as part of a cultural exchange with the Algerian government. As one of the original nam member states, and a country that Yugoslavia supported during its war of independence, Algeria represented an important ally. The exhibition entitled The People’s War of Liberation in the Work of Yugoslav Artists was an example of how politically engaged art about the Yugoslav Partisan struggle was used to build political and cultural ties and solidarity. It was, of course, no coincidence that art depicting Partisan struggle against a much stronger fascist, imperialist enemy

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reinforced the political discourse behind Algeria’s own war of independence. Paralleling President Tito’s assistance to Algeria in weapons, political support, and material aid, this exhibition gave moral backing to the anticolonial cause. It also provided an ideological structure that historicized Algerian and Yugoslav wars in the context of imperial predilections of Western empires, both French and German. The sixty-five works chosen were a mixture of paintings and prints completed during wartime and post–Second World War works by a younger generation of artists who did not personally take part in the war. Marijan Detoni was one of the artists whose work was exhibited. His undated painting entitled Attack at Dawn is emblematic of Detoni’s intense postwar period, between 1945 and the mid-1950s, when he painted several scenes from the war. Possibly representing the artist’s reckoning with his own trauma, the paintings were more expressive than his interwar work. Nevertheless, the paintings were still committed to social and revolutionary themes as Detoni now wrestled with merging his interest in the expressive potential of thick impasto paint and its textures with revolutionary themes and representations of internal trauma and struggle. Another important wartime artist whose work was represented in this exhibition was Djordje Andrejević-Kun. His iconic series of drawings called Partisans was chosen. As with other works completed during the war, Andrejević-Kun’s drawings were both a document of the time spent in combat and the artist’s own way of dealing with realism. Thematic and formal differences between the pieces in the exhibition were considerable. Apart from the two artists mentioned, there were works that were semi-figurative while others were completely abstract. The exhibition’s commissioner, Serbian painter Ivan Cvetko (1975), wrote an extensive report about the show after his official visit to Algeria for the installation. In it, he points out that, apart from the obvious politically significant content, the exhibition also represented a survey of Yugoslav painting with representatives from all Yugoslav republics and provinces and from different generations. He further added that Algerian media (print, radio, and television) gave exceptional publicity to the show and that the gallery where the exhibition was mounted had forty to fifty visitors at all times (ibid.). Both sides’ enthusiasm for Yugoslav political art was telling of the relationship the two countries had. Moreover, the fact that the symbolism of artworks about the Second World War Partisan struggle was so readily legible

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by Algerian audiences speaks to the ability of engaged art to produce a sense of solidarity in struggles across borders. Different scales of the local, regional, and global were in part collapsed through what Sunderason (2020, 88) calls shared “visual scapes of internationalism,” created through mobile, interconnected images of film, newspapers, photographs, television, and, of course, art exhibits. These alternative visualities embodied in multiple, diverse, and political modernist visions were enabled through nam’s cultural networks and are a proof of the cultural agency of “small nations” that incorporated and resisted various hegemonic cultural influences, fashioning their own political, utopian visions of the future.

notes 1 Larpurlartism from the French L’art pour l’art as in complete autonomy in art, or art for art’s sake. 2 “Izložba udruženja umjetnika zemlja” 1929. 3 I make this point by drawing on the work of Gallagher and Robinson (1953), Newbury (2000), Grocott and Grady (2014), Fisher (1984), and Hadži-Jovančić (2020), arguing that the Kingdom of Yugoslavia was a state under the indirect rule of several Western powers. 4 The Croatian Union of Artists was the only one that provided information about the exhibitions during the Second World War, so that the information about war exhibitions in other republics is not available.

references aj. Archives of Yugoslavia, Belgrade, Serbia. Fund 318. No date. Bilandžić, Dušan. 1985. Historija Socijalističke Federativne Republike Jugoslavije – Glavni procesi. Zagreb: Školska knjiga. Cvetko, Ivan. 1975. “Izvještaj sa službenog puta u Alžir komesara izložbe nob u delima likovnih umetnika Jugoslavije, upravniku Galerije Doma jna, Beograd, 12 jun 1975.” aj, Fund 632. Depolo, Josip. 2001. “Zemlja, 1929–1935.” In Studije i eseji, kritike i zapisi, polemike, 1954–1985, o naivi, naivima i srodnim pojavama, 9–54. Zagreb: Hrvatski muzej naivne umjetnosti. Fisher, Michael. 1984. “Indirect Rule in the British Empire: The Foundations of the Residency System in India (1764–1858).” Modern Asian Studies 18 (3): 393–428.

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Folgarait, Leonard. 2009. So Far from Heaven: David Alfaro Siqueiros’ The March of Humanity and Mexican Revolutionary Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gallagher, John, and Ronald Robinson. 1953. “The Imperialism of Free Trade.” The Economic History Review, New Series 6 (1): 1–15. Grocott, Chris, and Jo Grady. 2014. “‘Naked abroad’: The Continuing Imperialism of Free Trade.” Capital & Class 38 (3): 541–62. Hadži-Jovančić, Perica. 2020. The Third Reich and Yugoslavia: An Economy of Fear, 1933–1941. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Hibernik, Andreja. 2016. “Utopian Moments.” In Performing the Museum: The Reader, 177–84. Novi Sad: The Museum of Contemporary Art Vojvodina. icaa (International Center for the Arts of the Americas at the Museum of Fine Arts, Houston). 1943. “De arte: se efectuó ayer la conferencia del pintor mexicano Siqueiros,” El Comercio, Lima, Perú, 23 March. https://icaa.mfah.org/s/es/item/ 1143260#?c=&m=&s=&cv=&xywh=-1334%2C22%2C4367%2C2444. “Izložba udruženja umjetnika zemlja.” 1929. Zagreb: Salon Urlich. Exhibition catalogue. Jolly, Jennifer A. 2012. “Siqueiros’ Communist Proposition for Mexican Muralism, A Mural for the Mexican Electricians’ Syndicate.” In Mexican Muralism: A Critical History, edited by Alejandro Anreus, Leonard Folgarait, and Robin Adèle Greeley, 75–92. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kelley, Robin D.G. 2017. “What Did Cedric Robinson Mean by Racial Capitalism?” Boston Review, 12 January 2017. http://bostonreview.net/race/robin-d-g-kelleywhat-did-cedric-robinson-mean-racial-capitalism. Kingdon, Jonathan. 1967. “Review: Culture by Conference.” Transition 28: 45–7. Krleža, Miroslav. 1933. “Predgovor.” In Podravski motivi: 34 crteža. Zagreb: Minerva nakladna knjižara. Exhibition catalogue. – 1952. “Govor na Kongersu književnika u Ljubljani (5. X 1952).” In Krleža: eseji, knjige I, 297–336. Sarajevo: nip Oslobođenje. – 1988. Hrvatski bog Mars. Edited by Enes Čengić. Sarajevo: Oslobođenje. League against Imperialism Archives. 1929. “Résolution sur la situation dans les Balcans,” Deuxième congrès Mondial anti-impérialiste du 20 au 31 juillet 1929, Frankfort sur le Main, Allemagne.” International Institute of Social History. https://access.iisg.amsterdam/universalviewer/#?manifest=https://access.iisg. amsterdam/iiif/presentation/ARCH00804.87/manifest. Lukić, Sveta. 1975. “Socijalistički estetizam.” In Umetnost na mostu, 225–43. Beograd: Ideje.

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Mađarević, Vlado. 1974. Književnost i revolucija, prilog analizi sukoba na književnoj ljevici. Zagreb: August Cesarec. – 1982. “Samosvojni slikar Podravine Franji Mraz.” Podravski zbornik 8:126–31. Miletić, Miloš, and Mirjana Radovanović. 2016. Lekcije o odbrani: prilozi za analizu kulturne djelatnosti nop-a. Belgrade: Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung. “Mir, humanost in prijatelstvo med narodi.” 1966. Slovenj Gradec, Slovenia: Umetnostna galerija. Exhibition catalogue. Mraz, Franjo. 1964. “Franjo Mraz.” In Primitive Artists of Yugoslavia, edited by Oto Bihalji-Merin, 86–89. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co. Newbury, Colin. 2000. “Patrons, Clients, and Empire: The Subordination of Indigenous Hierarchies in Asia and Africa.” Journal of World History 11 (2): 227–63. Okeke-Agulu, Chika. 2015. Postcolonial Modernism: Art and Decolonization in Twentieth-Century Nigeria. Durham: Duke University Press. Pantić, Rade. 2014. “Ideologija intimističkog estetizma u srpskom modernističkom slikarstvu izmedju dva rata.” In Istorija umetnosti u Srbiji XX vek, vol. 3, edited by Misko Suvakovic, 459–81. Belgrade: Orion Art. Protić, Miodrag. 1980. “Jugoslovensko slikarstvo šeste decenije u Srbiji.” In Jugoslovensko slikarstvo šeste decenije, 17–20. Belgrade: Muzej savremene umetnosti. Exhibition catalogue. Ristić, Marko. 1956. “Culture et Coexistence: À propos de l’enquete sur les reports entre la culture de l’Europe orientale at occidentale.” Comprendre No. 13–14 (June): 133–142. Robinson, Cedric. 2000. Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Salami, Gitti and Monica Blackmun Visonà, eds. 2013. Companion to Modern African Art. London: Wiley Blackwell. Sanyal, Sunanda K. 2013. “‘Being Modern’: Identity Debates and Makerere’s Art School in the 1960s.” In Companion to Modern African Art, edited by Gitti Salami and Monica Blackmun Visonà, 255–75. London: Wiley Blackwell. Stilinović, Marijan. 1976. “U borbi za kulturni preporod.” In Prvi kongres kulturnih radnika Hrvatske, Topusko, 25–27. VI 1944: Gra a, edited by Ivan Jelić, 69–72. Zagreb: Institut za historiju radničkog pokreta Hrvatske. Šuica, Nada. 1969. “Umetnost nor-a.” In Jugoslavenska umetnost XX veka: 1929– 1950: nadrealizam, postnadrealizam, socijalna umetnost, umetnost nor-a socijalisticki realizam, 64–67. Belgrade: Muzej savremene umetnosti. Exhibition catalogue.

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Sunderason, Sanjukta. 2020. Partisan Aesthetics: Modern Art & India’s Long Decolonization. Stanford, ct: Stanford University Press. Trần Văn Dĩnh. 1976. “Non-Alignment and Cultural Imperialism,” The Black Scholar 8 (3): 39–49. Videkanić, Bojana. 2020. Nonaligned Modernism: Socialist Postcolonial Aesthetics in Yugoslavia, 1945–1985. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Vojnović, Branka. 1992. “Interes za hrvatsku pučku umjetnost.” Ethnologica Dalmatica 1 (1): 109–115.

6 Non-Aligned Cross-Cultural Pollination: A Short Graphic Novel Bojana Piškur and Đorđe Balmazović

Introduction Arts and culture were accorded particular importance in the Non-Aligned Movement, despite the fact that they never took centre stage at summits and conferences. The 1964 report of Heads of the State participating at the conference in Cairo considered cultural equality one of the important principles of nam, at the same time recognizing that many cultures were suppressed under colonial domination and that international understanding required a rehabilitation of these cultures. In the Colombo summit resolution (1976), emphasis was placed on restitution; members requested restitution of works of art to the countries from which they had been expropriated. At the conference in Havana (1979), Josip Broz Tito spoke of the resolute struggle for decolonization in the field of culture. The Delhi declaration (1983) focused more specifically on cultural heritage and its preservation as well as on cooperation in culture between nam members. However, after the Second World War, the main orientation in arts and culture in many non-aligned, decolonized, newly independent countries as well as in Yugoslavia was primarily the one following the Western epistemic canon. The other, non-Western story, comprising various “provincialized modernisms,” propagated ideas that were often in line with similar issues that non-alignment addressed at conferences and through resolutions. It can even be said that they were promulgated without a deeper understanding of those

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6.1 Non-Aligned Summits

“other” cultures, as is clear from reports, texts, and specific cases such as exhibitions and museums from that era. During the sixty years of its existence, the non-aligned transnational network has failed to produce a common fabric that would create a new international narrative in art. The Western canon might have been challenged to some degree but, with a few exceptions, “non-Western” cultural expressions were usually interpreted in the frame of ethnology or traditional arts and crafts. What did occur, however, was the potential to think (“think with difference”) and create different histories (modernisms, arts, narratives, etc.) that extended beyond the prevailing Eurocentric ones. There obviously existed heterogeneous artistic production, a variety of cultural politics, and extensive cultural networks that enriched the cultural landscape of nam and enabled discussions about the meaning of art outside the Western canon. However, the story of non-aligned cross-cultural pollination is far from being resolved and concluded. That is why the task for us today is not only to show those historical cases but also to discern the actual consequences of those

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progressive, even emancipatory, cultural politics on art and heritage and how they affected the cultural landscape in nam and the development of new prototypes of art institutions, networks, and epistemologies of knowledge. This graphic novel is a humble attempt to describe some of the seeds that remained from those encounters.1

Ljubljana Biennial of Graphic Arts The Ljubljana Biennial of Graphic Arts was founded in Moderna galerija as early as 1955. It was to be a practical example of Yugoslavia’s cultural diplomacy, prefiguring the cultural policies of the Non-Aligned Movement. Consequently, they exhibited “basically everything, the whole world,” especially after the first nam conference in 1961. However, the biennial orientation was primarily oriented towards the West, with the Western art canon predominating in all of the exhibitions. Artists from the Global South were included in the exhibitions more as a consequence of Yugoslavia’s non-aligned policies than any in-depth studies of other forms of expression and approaches in printmaking and art in general. Although enamoured of Western ideals and following its pragmatic political agenda, the Ljubljana Biennial of Graphic Arts was nonetheless globally one of the first non-bloc art events at the time of Cold War divisions, putting forward a model for peaceful coexistence of the First, Second, and Third Worlds – if only in art and culture.

Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende, Santiago de Chile Museo de la Solidaridad (Museum of Solidarity) was born in 1971 out of the visionary idea of a group of people, later named the International Committee of Artistic Solidarity with Chile, with Mario Pedrosa, a Brazilian art critic in exile there, serving as its president. An appeal was sent to the artists of the world in the same year to support the new socialist path Chile was taking by donating works of art for the new museum. Yet the act of donation was more than just a donation; it was an act of political and artistic solidarity with the Chilean project based on internationalist (socialist, non-aligned) political ideas. The new museum was also a museological experiment, a socialist mu-

6.2 Ljubljana Biennial of Graphic Arts

seum that would link cultural rehabilitation with political emancipation. The museum experiment ended abruptly in 1973 with Pinochet’s coup d’état and was reactivated in 1990 as an institution tackling not merely its collections and archives but also approaching difficult political issues of Chilean and Latin American history.

Museum of African Art, Belgrade The Museum of African Art (the Veda and Dr. Zdravko Pečar Collection) opened in Belgrade in 1977 as a result of the prevailing ideological and political climate in Yugoslavia. The museum was, at the time of its opening, promoted as the only anticolonial museum in Europe. The original permanent exhibition design made by Saveta and Slobodan Mašić still exists today, as a reminder

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6.3 Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende, Santiago de Chile

of a time when grand ideas of anticolonialism, equality, solidarity, and humanist ideals permeated cultural politics in nam countries. On the other hand, the taxonomies and other methodologies regarding the museum’s collections – classification, describing, and naming – were almost completely based on Western models. The Museum of African Art’s curators are well aware of this paradigm; in 2017 the museum’s non-aligned legacy and its collections were reconceptualized through the exhibition and publication Nypia kor ndzidzi.

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6.4 Museum of African Art, Belgrade

L’authenticité unesco produced a number of cultural policy studies in the 1970s written by experts from Third World countries around the idea of developing their own cultural models. Cultural Policy in the Republic of Zaire, written by Bokonga Ekanga Botobele in 1976, was probably one of the most radical ones and is an excellent case study of such cultural paradigms even today. It describes a new doctrine called l’authenticité, which aimed to erase all traces of Belgian colonialism in art and culture in Zaire: “Throughout our colonial epoch, by dint of hearing about the superiority of the cultural values of the colonial ruler, the people ended up by despising their own culture and letting

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6.5 L’authenticité

themselves be convinced that the colonists were superior to them in everything” (53). Hence, instead of Western influences in arts, the Zaïreans searched for sources in their “ancestral” or traditional heritage. President Mobutu Sesse Sekou had grandiose ideas about the international positioning of Zaïrean arts; in 1973, the plenary session of the International Association of Art Critics (aica) was organized in Kinshasa, the first aica meeting ever in Africa.

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The News Agencies’ Pool of the Non-Aligned Countries In 1975, the News Agencies Pool of Non-Aligned Countries (the Pool or nanap) was established on the initiative of the Yugoslav press agency Tanjug. Within a year, twenty-six members joined the Pool, among them aps Algeria, telem Argentina, atp Chad, gha Ghana, samachar India, ina Iraq, anim Mali, wafa Palestine, and suna Sudan. The main objectives of the Pool were to improve and expand mutual exchange of information between its members, to free themselves from their dependence on major international press

6.6 The News Agencies’ Pool of the Non-Aligned Countries

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agencies, and to disseminate correct and factual information about the nonaligned countries. Even though the Pool ceased to exist in the mid-1990s, it is a reminder that the potential for more equal and balanced information and cultural flow strategies already existed not so long ago.

The Josip Broz Tito Gallery for the Art of the Non-Aligned Countries, Titograd The only art institution established directly under the patronage of nam was the Josip Broz Tito Gallery for the Art of the Non-Aligned Countries, which was inaugurated in then Titograd, Yugoslavia, in 1984. Its aim was to collect, preserve, and present the arts and cultures of the non-aligned countries as well as to organize seminars and residencies. At the time, the collection was criticized by some prominent Yugoslav art historians as comprising “works from faraway exotic places” and “from authoritarian states that support official art.” It is true that the gallery was a political project from the very beginning. On the other hand, however, the collection’s potential to challenge the ways that Western art operates and produces hegemonic narratives/canons was not particularly well understood, either. Unlike Western colonial museums of the past, the gallery in Titograd acquired “art of the world” solely in the form of gifts and donations (over a thousand works) while attempting to develop its own cultural networks and combine this with experiences from other parts of the non-aligned world.

Art Pavilion, Slovenj Gradec The Art Pavilion was officially established in 1957. The intention was to bring Slovenj Gradec, a small town near the Slovenian-Austrian border, onto the international art map. This idea was in line with the new museological considerations of the time – to bring art outside centres and capitals and to the working people (in the spirit of “art and culture to all”). Solidarity, humanist values, and peace among nations were some of the objectives the Pavilion (later renamed the Museum of Modern and Contemporary Art Koroška) actively pursued through its exhibitions and events. Four international exhibi-

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6.7 The Josip Broz Tito Gallery for the Art of the Non-Aligned Countries, Titograd

tions under the patronage of the un were held in 1966, 1975, 1979, and 1985. Artists from nam countries also participated; after the Peace 75 exhibition, Indonesian artists from the Decenta group donated eighteen works for the Pavilion collection.

The Architecture of Vann Molyvann Vann Molyvann (1926–2017) was an architect from Cambodia who, in the years after independence (1953) and before the Khmer Rouge (1975), constructed almost a hundred projects in the country, the most famous being the National Sports Complex built in the capital Phnom Penh in 1962. Vann Molyvann studied architecture in Paris and, upon his return to Cambodia, combined this knowledge (the modernist style, the use of concrete) with traditional Khmer architecture. The particular style of architecture was later

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6.8 Art Pavilion, Slovenj Gradec

termed New Khmer Architecture. Vann Molyvann successfully articulated the idea and showed the world how it was possible to direct one’s own modernization process in a postcolonial, developing, non-aligned country such as Cambodia.

6.9 The Architecture of Vann Molyvann

The Asian Art Biennial, Dhaka After the independence of Bangladesh (1971), the Shilpakala Academy was established. Under its auspices, the first Asian Art Biennial was held in Dhaka in 1981. The initiative came from Syed Jahangir, a painter and an organizer of art events. Even though the first editions focused on Asia, the biennial has since grown to include artists from other parts of the world. The biennial can be observed in the frame of alternative routes of cultural exchange (for example, biennials in New Delhi, Baghdad, and Havana, to name a few) that emerged in the countries of the Non-Aligned Movement after 1961.

6.10 The Asian Art Biennial, Dhaka

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GANEFO, Jakarta Alternative networks existed not only in arts and culture but also in sports. The Games of the New Emerging Forces or ganefo (sometimes called the “counter-Olympics”) were organized in line with the prevailing political ideas of nam: anticolonialism, anti-imperialism, as well as solidarity and cooperation between the emerging Third World nations. The first games were held in 1963 in Jakarta, under the leadership of Indonesian president Sukarno. For the

6.11 ganefo, Jakarta

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occasion, the Gelora Bung Karno stadium was built. A total of twenty-seven hundred athletes from fifty-one nations participated at ganefo, competing in Olympic disciplines despite the ganefo committee’s heavy criticism of the Olympic Games as being in the interest of neocolonialists and imperialists.

Non-Aligned Nations Contemporary Art Exhibition, Jakarta The last “grand” exhibition under nam auspices was the 1995 Jakarta NonAligned Nations Contemporary Art Exhibition, with almost three hundred works by artists from forty-two nam countries, including Croatia as the only post-Yugoslav and European country present. There was a lot of criticism of the exhibition at the time, mainly because it was supported by the Indonesian state; the Suharto government’s attitude towards “freedom of expression” was extremely problematic. A seminar was also organized in the frame of the exhibition, discussing concepts such as Southern perspectives in art and the South as a place of change and solidarity. The question of the contemporary art of nam countries was debated and the ideas of universalist modernism and linear development in art were rejected as was the idea that the contemporary art of the South was a sign of the liberation of Third World art. Unfortunately, not much is known about this exhibition today.

Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned The series of Southern Constellations’ exhibitions resulted from decade-long research on non-aligned cultural politics and on the role art and culture played within the Non-Aligned Movement. The 2019 exhibition in Moderna galerija, Ljubljana, included twenty-six cases from around the world that not only dealt with the past (cultural exchanges and programs, exhibitions, cultural policies, and works of art) but also looked into the present. The exhibition showed that cultural solidarity existed within nam alongside political and economic solidarity, something that is largely forgotten today. All the subsequent Southern Constellations’ exhibitions (South Korea, Croatia, Palestine, etc.) are translations (“stations”), conceptualized in a slightly different way

6.12 Non-Aligned Nations Contemporary Art Exhibition, Jakarta

according to the particular context and local specificities with the aim of creating a larger transnational network.

Conclusions These conclusions were developed by Bojana Piškur for the Solidarity of Art seminar organized by the Qattan Foundation, Ramallah, Palestine, 3 December 2020.

6.13 Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned

6.14. Top Conclusions I 6.15. Bottom Conclusions II

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1 The authors decided upon a graphic novel format for many reasons. There is a long tradition of producing graphic novels in socialist Yugoslavia for didactic and educational purposes (consider, for example, that in 1948 the rate of illiteracy among the Yugoslav population aged ten and over was 35 per cent). Nowadays, when the topic of non-alignment is not widely known, a graphic novel and other more experimental formats can help bring our work closer to the people. This way we keep the old tradition of graphic novels, political posters, wall newspapers, murals, and so on alive.

further re ading Asia Art Bangladesh. 1981. Dacca: Shilpakala Academy. Exhibition catalogue. Biennial of Graphic Art. 1973. Ljubljana: Moderna galerija. Exhibition catalogue. Botombele, Bokonga Ekanga. 1976. Cultural Policy in the Republic of Zaire. Paris: unesco Press. International Biennial of Graphic Art. 1981–1987. Ljubljana: Moderna galerija. Exhibition catalogues. International Exhibition of Graphic Arts. 1955–1971. Ljubljana: Moderna galerija. Exhibition catalogues. International Exhibition of Graphic Art. 1975–1979. Ljubljana: Moderna galerija. Exhibition catalogues. Janevski, Ana, Roxana Marcoci, and Ksenia Nouril, eds. 2018. “Solidarity in Arts and Culture. Some cases from the Non-Aligned Movement.” In Art and Theory of Post-1989 Central and Eastern Europe: A Critical Anthology, 347–51. New York: Museum of Modern Art. Molyvann, Vann. 2003. Modern Khmer Cities. Phnom Penh: Reyum. News Agencies Pool of Non-Aligned Countries. 1983. New Delhi: Indian Institute of Mass Communication, for Coordinating Committee. English, French, Arabic and Spanish versions. Peace 75, Committed Figurative Art. 1975. Slovenj Gradec: Institute for Culture – Art Gallery. Exhibition catalogue. Piškur, Bojana. 2016. “The Non-Aligned Movement and Cultural Politics in the Former Yugoslavia.” In Monuments Should Not be Trusted, edited by Lina Džuverović, 176–89. Nottingham: Nottingham Contemporary. Exhibition catalogue. – 2019. Southern Constellations: the Poetics of the Non-Aligned, 347–51. Ljubljana: Moderna galerija. Exhibition catalogue.

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– 2020. “Many Voices, One World. Cultural Transformations within the NonAligned Movement as Revised from a Contemporary Perspective.” In The Aesthetics of Ambiguity: Understanding and Addressing Monoculture, edited by Pascal Gielen and Nav Haq, 123–33. Arts in Society Series 29. Valiz, Amsterdam: Antennae. Radunović, Veselin, ed. 2010. Umjetničke zbirke Centra savremene umjetnosti Crne Gore. Podgorica: Centar savremene umjetnosti Crne Gore. Sedyawati, Edi, A.D. Pirous, Jim Supangkat, T.K. Sabapathy, eds. 1997/98. Contemporary Art of the Non-Aligned Countries: Unity in Diversity in International Art. Jakarta: Balai Pustaka: Project for Development of Cultural Media, Directorate General for Culture, Dept. of Education and Culture. Post-event catalogue. Sladojević, Ana, and Emilia Epštajn, eds. 2017. Nypia kor ndzidzi. One Man, No Chop. (Re)conceptualization of the Museum of African Art – the Veda and Dr. Zdravko Pečar Collection. Belgrade: The Museum of African Art – the Veda and Dr. Zdravko Pečar Collection. Exhibition catalogue. Zaldívar, Claudia, ed. 2013. 40 años. Museo de la Solidaridad por Chile. Fraternidad. Arte y politica 1971–1973. Santiago de Chile: Museo de la Solidaridad Salvador Allende. Exhibition catalogue.

7 Practices of Yugoslav Cultural Exchange with Non-Aligned Countries Ljiljana Kolešnik

Introduction In the spring of 1980, an event called Days of Information on African Culture was organized in Belgrade as a precursor to the Twenty-First General Conference of unesco, held in the same location from 23 September to 28 October 1980.1 In addition to an exhibition of books, lectures, and screenings of African films, the event also included a series of roundtable discussions on the possibilities of cultural cooperation in developing countries, published later the same year in the special issue of the journal Kultura and providing important insights into contemporary African cultures.2 The publication, as well the event itself, took its tone from the contributions of Basile Toussiant Kassou, director of the African Cultural Institute in Dakar, which had become the central site of West African cultural emancipation after it organized the First International Festival of Black Arts in 1966. In the early 1980s, the institute was coordinating cultural projects in nineteen African countries (Kultura 1980, 7). In an article in that issue entitled “Perspectives and Purpose of Cultural Cooperation of Non-Aligned Countries,” Kassou (1980, 99–114) provided a detailed analysis of how economic poverty and underdeveloped, inaccessible education thwart efforts towards the cultural emancipation of African countries. His analysis was underpinned by profound personal understanding of the entirety of political and cultural processes on the African continent. An important insight into the mechanisms of the permanent and harmful Western cultural and economic presence on the African continent, the article was

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used as a starting point for elaborating a “general, original cultural project” of non-aligned countries, conceived as a platform for joint action in the field of culture. At its core was the principle of “horizontal collaboration” (Kassou 1980, 109) between poverty-stricken non-aligned countries aimed at “creating a bridge across the South” (Kuwait Declaration 1977) and crafting the foundations for new models of cultural exchange. Kassou’s proposal certainly complicated the possibility of Yugoslavia’s involvement in the proposed common cultural platform based on the shared experience of colonialism and its economic, social, and cultural consequences in the Global South. However, and from the perspective of Yugoslavia and its self-positioning within the Non-Aligned Movement (nam), the lack of such experience probably was far less problematic than any possible discussion of a common nam cultural policy. Although common nam cultural policy was not Kassou’s assertion, for the purpose of the introduction in this outline of Yugoslav institutionally mediated international cultural exchange with non-aligned countries, it should be noted that Yugoslavia had, generally, a reserved position towards debates of that kind, taking the stand that due to significant cultural-historical, religious, and political differences among nam member countries, any attempt at defining a common cultural policy would be neither productive nor possible (Vulović and Stefanović 1985). Such a position should be correlated with Yugoslav political practice; that is, with an understanding of culture as integral to all sociopolitical processes. Therefore, and for it to fully contribute to the development of self-management socialism, the cultural field was exempted from the regulatory and legislative framework applied to other public policies. Consequently, it is also not possible to talk about a Yugoslav cultural policy with respect to non-aligned countries; rather, we must discuss the position of culture in the overall Yugoslav politics of non-alignment and how this position was conceptualized in the practices of Yugoslavia’s cultural exchange with Third World countries. The actual stand of different Yugoslav political actors towards Kassou’s ideas and proposals is described here in terms of probability since it was never clearly articulated – in either political or scholarly discourse on Yugoslav politics of non-alignment published in the former socialist state during the 1980s. The main source of information on Yugoslav practices of international cultural exchange on which this description is based

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is, rather, ample archival documentation produced by state actors tasked with the creation, organization, and implementation of cultural exchange programs from the holdings of the Archive of Yugoslavia in Belgrade. It was supplemented with information from the daily press, specialized magazines, and journals dealing with cultural issues published in Yugoslavia in the observed period. Studies on Yugoslav cultural exchange published after 1990 are relatively scarce and mainly provide insights into specifics of exchange programs within particular fields of cultural production. Following such an approach, the focus of this chapter is on visual arts, on the state administration’s approach to the artistic cultures of non-aligned countries, and on the political objectives of cultural exchange. The development, characteristics, and content of Yugoslav cultural exchange have only recently become the subject of research thanks to exhibitions and discursive projects of art museums in cultural centres of former socialist Yugoslavia.3 These offered reliable insights into the intensity of cultural exchange with non-aligned countries (Merhar 2018, 43–70) in correlation with the objectives of Yugoslav foreign politics, interpreted through ideas of internationalism and solidarity (Piškur 2019, 9–25; Sladojević 2013, 7–22). The research that preceded these exhibitions and discursive events, did not, however, include Yugoslav practices of self-representation, the ways in which they were adapted to different geopolitical contexts, and the “idea” of Yugoslavia mediated through cultural exchange programs, nor the “notion of the presumed Other” (Mikkonen and Koivunen 2015, 17) on which the Yugoslav and international exchange programs of most other countries in the Cold War period were based. Issues of this kind position international cultural exchange practices closer to the interests of political science than of art history, the latter certainly being more interested in the formal and aesthetic properties of the objects of exchange, in the degree to which the national arts of six Yugoslav republics were visible in the exchange program activities, or in explaining the confusion resulting from the contemporary improper use of the unifying term “Yugoslav art.” However, even in terms of the periodization and typology of postwar Yugoslav art production based on its formal properties, it is difficult to ignore the political dimension of certain aesthetic choices or the ways they correlated with postwar Yugoslav foreign and domestic policy. In the case of cultural exchange with non-aligned countries, it is also impossible to ignore, for example,

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the projection of Cold War cultural geography onto the collective imagination of Yugoslav citizens and the position of the Third World in the cartography of its landscape as essential for understanding the culture-generated conditions affecting the reception of non-aligned countries’ artistic cultures. This position was viewed through the discourse of the Yugoslav politics of nonalignment and the media-mediated experiences of various public figures involved in social, political, and economic interactions with non-aligned countries. It showed the Third World as uncentred, unstable, and, at the same time, fragmented by the spatial and temporal trajectories of its colonial past, in some areas firmly bound by shared cultural and spiritual traditions, in others destabilized by new political alliances and local nationalisms and densely interwoven with networks of parallel emancipatory initiatives. Yugoslav cultural exchange practices were adapted to this ever-changing cultural and political configuration – with more or less success. It seems important to note, contrary to some recent efforts that tend to reify Yugoslav cultural interactions with non-aligned countries (Videkanić 2019), that the projection of the Third World described above was, on the level of reception of its artistic cultures, firmly framed in terms of the indisputable Eurocentrism of the Yugoslav education system4 and, despite solidarity with and wide popular support for the anticolonial struggle of the peoples of Africa, Asia, and Latin America, also marked by cultural prejudices.

Models of Self-Representation and Yugoslav Artistic Culture International cultural exchange became an important instrument in Yugoslav foreign policy after diplomatic and economic relations between Yugoslavia and the ussr were severed in 1948, when, to convince the international public of the fundamental differences between Soviet and Yugoslav political practice, Yugoslav diplomacy mobilized, among others, all the resources of its own high culture. The precondition for its effective (political) use was to develop tight programmatic and operational coordination of institutional and individual actors of the Yugoslav cultural scene, which was ensured in 1953 when the federal government established the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries, a federal agency intended to support activities of cultural diplomacy. The foundation of the commission gave international

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cultural exchange an appropriate administrative framework, defined its fields of activity, determined objects and models of cultural exchange, established communication protocols with Yugoslav diplomatic missions, and adopted the instruments of bilateral state conventions and agreements as a political basis for exchange activities (Official Gazette 1953, 110–11; Archive of Yugoslavia [aj], aj-559–8/19, Opšti materijali, Statut Komisije za kulturne veze sa inostranstvom, 23 April 1953). The commission was tasked with defining the scope, dynamics, and content of exchange programs, which, in line with the requirements of Yugoslav foreign policy, formed the basis of cultural exchange agreements with any particular country. These programs relied heavily on information provided by cultural diplomacy – on its assessment of the effectiveness of Yugoslav cultural products for creating a positive image of Yugoslavia in the collective imagination of a particular foreign nation or group of international cultural actors whose role and reputation could contribute to the greater visibility of Yugoslav artistic culture. The appropriate resources of Yugoslav high culture were mobilized in line with such assessments, and the main items of exchange were contemporary art products – along with cultural heritage and artifacts of folk culture. In the second half of the 1950s, jazz and dance music were also included in exchange programs as soft power resources of Yugoslav foreign policy towards countries of the Eastern bloc and the Soviet Union (Vuletić 2012, 115–31). During the following decade, and in particular in the 1970s, Yugoslav television production was very much in demand in cultural exchange with both Western Europe and the non-aligned countries.5 The goals of Yugoslav foreign policy, formulated in the 1950s, were based on an assessment of the possible influences of US and ussr special and global political interests on the internal stability of the Yugoslav state and its position on the international political scene. They also extended to cultural interaction with Western European countries and, after restoration of diplomatic relations with the ussr in 1955, to cultural exchange with Eastern blocs. In defining the political goals of cultural exchange with non-aligned countries from the early 1960s on, besides immediate Yugoslav political and economic interests, a key role was played by the internal dynamics of the Non-Aligned Movement and an assessment of the need for Yugoslav presence in particular Third World locations.

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In the collective projection of Cold War cultural cartography already mentioned, cultural policies of the superpowers were seen as fully defined by their antithetical ideological positions, manifestations of which, in artistic culture, were firmly centred in European cultural space by the interrelationship of the aesthetic and ideological paradigms of high modernism and socialist realism. It is interesting that, from the perspective of the Yugoslav art scene in the early 1950s, both paradigms were looked on as hegemonic, albeit with different emancipatory predilections. The cause of the resistance towards socialist realism was its dogmatic imposition upon the local art scene immediately after the end of the Second World War, as well as the social and cultural effects of such political decision, rather than contempt for its political objectives. As a result of that unwanted encounter, socialist realism largely disappeared from the Yugoslav art scene soon after the break with the Soviet Union, though not from the national arts of all republics, and not without leaving traces.6 It took a long time for the institutional infrastructure and cultural strongholds of socialist realism to disintegrate, and that process continued even after the aesthetics of high modernism was adopted. The latter’s assimilation during the first half of the 1950s was accompanied by numerous polemical confrontations. The views and arguments put forward by their participants were very close to those presented in contemporary debates on the relationship between realism and abstraction in Western European countries with strong and influential communist parties, such as France and Italy (Guilbaut 1985; Kolešnik 2012, 145–83; Galimberti 2018). Aside from the polarization of the broader intellectual scene, such debates did not have a major impact on the Yugoslav art scene, but they did leave open the question of its potential to generate a new visual language whose authenticity and radicalism would correspond to the authenticity of the social project of self-managing socialism, also introduced at the very beginning of the 1950s. This question kept resurfacing, but not in all Yugoslav republics and not from the same ideological position. In Croatian art, it would remain relevant until the end of the 1960s thanks to a local version of postwar neoconstructivism framed by the idea of the synthesis of artistic and social practice (Kolešnik 2004, 80–9; Ofak 2019), turning that segment of national art production into a stronghold for the radical critique of the hegemonic paradigm of high modernism in Yugoslav artistic culture. Despite such “aberrations,”

7.1 Ivan Picelj, Composition XL, 1952.

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7.2 View of the exhibition Salon 54, Rijeka Art Gallery, 1954.

high modernism, in a wide range of variants, became the dominant form of expression of the Yugoslav art scene between 1952 and 1956. Since it was systematically included in federal exhibitions abroad, art produced in Yugoslav was internationally recognized in the mid-1950s, both in terms of the aesthetics of high modernism and its Cold War political subtext (Denegri 1995; Merenik 2001; Kolešnik 2005, 307–15). This international visibility of the Yugoslav art scene was largely the result of applying a model of self-representation developed in parallel to Yugoslav independent involvement in Cold War culture and with the intention of “branding” Yugoslav self-management socialism as essentially different from Soviet sociopolitical and cultural practice. At its core, as in the core of selfrepresentation models developed in other countries at the time, were products of high art that upheld the idea of individual freedom of expression. An integral, secondary element of this model in the Yugoslav case was the intensive involvement of local art historians in international professional associations

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such as aica (International Association of Art Critics) or insea (International Society for Education Through Art),7 whose activities were supposed to increase the visibility of contemporary Yugoslav artistic culture in the discourse of international art criticism and artistic education. Another model of self-representation based on utilization of cultural heritage also started to develop at the very beginning of the 1950s. Its intention was to provide a theoretically convincing correlation of contemporary Yugoslav social and political practice with the continuous creative contribution made by the nations in the Yugoslav geopolitical space to world culture in general. Initiated by the exhibition Yugoslav Medieval Art, held in 1950 in Paris,8 the structure of that model was completed in the late 1950s by Yugoslavia’s presentation at the world expo ’58 in Brussels.9 Occasionally applied in the following decades as well, this self-representation model was revitalized after the exhibition Art on the Soil of Yugoslavia from Prehistoric Times to the Present,10 organized (again) in Paris in 1971. It proved important and useful in Yugoslav cultural exchange with the Third World, serving as a framework for establishing a conceptual analogy between the efforts of non-aligned countries in rooting their postcolonial national identities in the historical continuity of local cultures and the Yugoslav intention to provide its own sociopolitical practice with a similar historical dimension.

Characteristics of Cultural Exchange with Non-Aligned Countries Both self-representational models as well as those simultaneously developed in other countries at the beginning of the 1950s played an important, if not key, role in articulating artistic and interpretive practices responsible for grounding the very concept of Cold War culture. The beginning of Yugoslavia’s cultural exchange with non-aligned countries in the 1960s was marked by a troubling adjustment of these models designed in the 1950s according to political, cultural, and material circumstances of presentation and reception that were very different from those surrounding cultural interactions with both the Eastern bloc and Western Europe. Implementation of exchange programs with the Third World was, therefore, initially rather chaotic – both ambitious and limited because of a serious lack of basic infrastructure in most

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African and Asian countries: exhibition galleries, concert and theatre halls, well-established publishing houses, and their rather modest financial means, due to which a relatively large number of contracted exchange activities could not be realized. These were technical obstacles, but the real problems of Yugoslav cultural exchange were of different nature. Related to the resistance of Third World artistic cultures to classifications, typologies, and periodization imposed by Western traditions from the background of the aesthetics of high modernism, they also concerned the perception of the image of the presumed (cultural) Other articulated in the case of exchange with non-aligned countries through political discourse. This image, which was informed by and adapted to changes in political understanding, impacted the work of the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries and all other state offices in charge of conceptualizing, organizing, and implementing cultural exchange from 1961 onwards. The fundamental problem, which continued well into the 1980s, was inadequate information about the artistic scenes of non-aligned countries and ignorance about developments in their contemporary cultures, leading to consequences that are – looking back from today – hard to understand.11 An example is the approach of the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries to the exhibition Black Art, or better still, its approach to the First World Festival of Black Arts, a cultural initiative of West African countries that the exhibition was to showcase to the Yugoslav public. The exhibition Black Art, a sophisticated, carefully devised art event and the result of the joint organization of the Embassies of Senegal, Mali, Guinea, and the African Institute in Dakar (aj, aj-skkvi-559/60, omot 632.2–30/1965, “Izložba crnačke umetnosti,” Envelope 632.2–30/1965, “Exhibition of Negro Art”), was part of the international promotion campaign for the festival, to be held the following year, 1966, in Dakar. Undoubtedly the most important cultural event in Africa in the mid-1960s (Yacouba 2009; Murphy 2016, 1–42; Houneoude 2016, 249– 55), the festival strongly impacted transcontinental debates about the authenticity of African cultures, their contribution to world cultural heritage, and the correlation between contemporary African art and the artistic cultures of the colonial metropolises, which were at that time very important for the cultural emancipation of the postcolonial countries of Francophone Africa (Pensa 2011). Besides its regional and continental importance, this cultural event also had a global dimension because it enabled the first direct encounter

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of local artists with the African art diaspora (Fillitz 2016; Wofford 2009, 179– 83). The Senegalese Embassy used the Black Art exhibition as an opportunity to ask the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries to support the festival – but the request was rejected. This decision is surprising, to say the least, given Yugoslavia’s good relations with Senegal (a cultural exchange agreement was signed in 1963) and very good relations with other West African countries, as well as Yugoslavia’s close cooperation with unesco, the main patron of the event, and in particular given the basic principles of the non-aligned policy: solidarity, mutual support, and advocacy of the political and cultural emancipation of the new postcolonial societies. No explanation is given for this decision. The commission’s archival documentation created in connection with organizing the Black Art exhibition only contains information about a meeting of its senior official with the Senegalese cultural attaché Louise Gueye, at which the decision was communicated, and another document containing information about refusing her request to meet with the commission president Dušan Vejnović (aj, aj-skkvi559/60, omot 632.2–30/1965 “Izložba crnačke umetnosti,” dokument “Izveštaj o izložbi “Crnačka umetnost,” Envelope 632.2–30/1965, “Exhibition of Black Art”).12 The festival is not referred to in reviews of the Black Art exhibition in the Yugoslav press, although it is mentioned in the introductory text of the catalogue, Senghor’s “Message to the People of Senegal,” in which the organization of the exhibition in Yugoslavia was directly placed in the context of preparations for the festival. Senghor’s explanation of the traditional art of West Africa as a stronghold for its newly acquired cultural self-awareness, the selection and regional scope of the material shown at the exhibition, framed by the concept of “blackness” (négritude), also provided a unique, missed opportunity to explain to the Yugoslav public the meaning of this concept, of great importance for understanding cultural processes on the African continent in the 1960s. Taking into account the interest of the Yugoslav public in contemporary art,13 supported and encouraged by domestic art criticism (Kolešnik 2006), it is also not easy to understand the commission’s inclination to present the artistic cultures of non-aligned countries through the anonymous and socially inactive production of ancient cultures or through their folklore heritage. A partial explanation of that inclination may be sought in the already mentioned effort of rooting the project of self-management socialism in the overall

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material and spiritual heritage of Yugoslav national cultures, an analog with the need of many Third World countries to root their contemporary, postcolonial society in the historical continuity of traditional, local art practices. Occasionally, their reevaluation has resulted in fetishizing traditional forms of artistic expression and their growth into a “static phenomenon or force capable of suppressing creativity.”14 More common, however, were examples of including traditional art practices in contemporary art production as a sign of, or reference to, the aforementioned historical continuity.15 The commission’s archives, however, contain evidence of Yugoslav insistence on exhibitions showing either the production of ancient cultures or ethnographic material, even when the partner country resisted such request. An example is an exhibition of Egyptian contemporary art in which Egypt intended to present itself to the Yugoslav public for the first time in the autumn of 1965. The resistance of the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries to this intention can be traced through almost six months of correspondence with the Yugoslav Embassy in Cairo (aj, aj-skkvi-559/86, omot 68.6–30/1965, korespondencija između Komisije i jugoslavenske ambasade u Kairu, veljača – lipanj 1965; zadnji dopis jugoslavenskog ambasadora iz Kaira, datiran 29.5.1965, Envelope 68.6–30/1965, correspondence between the Commission for Cultural Relations and the Yugoslav Embassy in Cairo, February–June 1965; the last letter of the Yugoslav Ambassador from Cairo, dated 29 May 1965). We learn from this that the Egyptian curators worked tirelessly to prepare the exhibition until the middle of that year, when the correspondence was concluded with the Embassy’s advice to stop the pressure and allow the Egyptian partners to decide on its content . The advice was clearly not followed and, at the beginning of the next year, 1966, the local public got the opportunity to see the exhibition Five Thousand Years of Egyptian Ceramics. Since this was a travelling exhibition16 consisting of as many as four hundred items, one cannot credit the assumption that Yugoslavia insisted on giving up on the exhibition of Egyptian contemporary art because of its scope. Similarly, it is unlikely that the reason for the pressure was the costs of hosting the exhibition, as the Yugoslav side provided – by default – only the exhibition space, exhibition layout, printing posters and catalogue of visiting exhibitions, and their possible transfer to additional locations in Yugoslavia. Apart from the exotic and spectacular nature of the ancient Egyptian heritage, which probably attracted a great number of visitors, it is difficult to find a convincing

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7.3 View of the exhibition Yugoslav Contemporary Art, Aleppo, 1967.

explanation for the commission’s stand in this case. Its indifference to Egypt’s desire to present its new, postcolonial national identity using contemporary art is even less understandable given that, from the mid-1950s onward, it was contemporary art that formed the backbone of Yugoslav self-presentations on the international art scene and, from the early 1960s, also on the art scenes of non-aligned countries. It is interesting to note, in that regard, that the most important presentation of Tunisian art to the Yugoslav public – in the sense of its media visibility – was an exhibition of Roman mosaics, and that, apart from several solo and almost unnoticed shows by contemporary Indian artists, the most representative exhibition of Indian art, according to the Yugoslav press, was a display of Indian miniatures (seventeenth–nineteenth centuries; aj, aj-skkvi-559/86, omot 632.2–28 /1965, “Indijska izložba minijature,” Envelope 632.2–28 /1965, “Indian Exhibition of Miniatures”). Latin American countries were represented by travelling exhibitions of pre-Columbian art treasures and handi-

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crafts by Venezuelan Indians; Mexico by an exhibition of Mayan masks; and Senegal, ten years after the exhibition Black Art, in 1975, again by its ritual sculptures. The case of the second exhibition – Black Sculpture from Senegal, planned in honour of Léopold Sédar Senghor’s first official visit to Yugoslavia in the autumn of 1975 – is particularly interesting since the Yugoslav Embassy in Rome suggested instead the exhibition Senegalese Art Today, on display at the time in the Palazzo Braschi in Rome.17 It was the first international, grandscale presentation of Senegalese modern and contemporary art, based on a selection of artworks from the state collection, which comprised “more than one hundred paintings, tapestries, and sculptures” (Axt and Sy 1989, 83 in Grabski and Harney 2006, 47). It was opened in Paris in 1974 and “travelled in various forms to several venues in Europe, North America, and South America until it returned permanently to Dakar in the mid-1980s” (ibid.). The Embassy provided the Commission for Cultural Relations with the catalogue published in Rome, with detailed information on the Italian-African Institute, which organized the Senegalese exhibition, and also on the cost and required technical conditions for its transfer to Yugoslavia (aj, aj-319/97, omot 632–1-50 “Senegalska izložba,” Fund 319, Federal Council for Education and Culture, Box 97, Envelope 632–1-50, “Senegalese Exhibition”).18 What we know for sure is that this transfer did not happen, and even if this second exhibition of Black Art from Senegal was organized in Belgrade, it did not leave a trace either in the archives of the commission or in the columns of the Yugoslav daily press reporting about cultural events. Because of the commission’s reservations about exhibiting modern and contemporary art from the non-aligned countries, the percentage of such exhibitions among the majority of exhibitions representing Third World artistic cultures in Yugoslavia between 1962 and 1978 was small (figure 7.4),19 especially when compared with exhibitions of Yugoslav modern and contemporary art integral to the programs of international cultural exchange with Africa, Asia, and Latin America (figure 7.5). If, on the other hand, one analyzes the total volume and acclaimed dynamics of Yugoslav cultural exchange with nonaligned countries, it becomes clear that it primarily concerns outgoing exhibitions, those that ensured a Yugoslav cultural presence at Third World locations of its particular political and economic interest. The number of exhibitions from non-aligned countries in Yugoslavia was much smaller, and

7.4 Top The ratio of modern art exhibitions and exhibitions of cultural heritage artifacts from nam countries, displayed in Yugoslav museums and galleries between 1961 and 1978. 7.5 Middle The ratio of modern art exhibitions and exhibitions of cultural heritage artifacts from Yugoslavia displayed in nam countries between 1968 and 1978. 7.6 Bottom The ratio of the overall number of Yugoslav exhibitions displayed in nam countries, and an overall number of exhibitions from nam countries displayed in Yugoslavia, between 1968 and 1978.

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there is a non-negligible number of nam members whose art the Yugoslav public never had the opportunity to see (figure 7.6). A possible reason for this imbalance may be, as already mentioned, the modest financial means of African and Asian countries as well as earlier mentioned Yugoslav political interests, which certainly had an impact on the presentation of Third World artistic cultures to Yugoslav citizens.

Decentralization of International Cultural Exchange Yugoslav galleries and museums set up independent cooperation with related foreign institutions as early as the mid-1950s, but the state-run system did not begin to decentralize until 1961, after the Non-Aligned Movement was founded. However, cultural exchange with nam members remained under the greater or lesser supervision of the federal state until 1978. The social, political, and economic reforms carried out in Yugoslavia between 1961 and 1974 did not bring any substantial changes to its state apparatus, thus affecting only organizational aspects of international cultural exchange (Unkovski-Korica 2016). Changes in the manner of financing exchange activities, which called for them to be funded by the republics, were revoked immediately after their introduction in 1967 because the majority of Yugoslav museums and galleries did not have any interest in organizing exchange with non-aligned countries under such conditions (Merhar 2018, 46). A major reorganization of international cultural exchange took place in 1974 with the establishment of the Federal Institute of International Scientific, Educational, Cultural and Technical Cooperation, and not long afterwards the entire state apparatus was restructured after the new Yugoslav Constitution was adopted in the same year. The new constitution reduced the powers of the central state and introduced a “republican key” mechanism to ensure the equal and proportionate participation of Yugoslav republics and autonomous provinces in all political and administrative activities at the federal level. Besides the new organizational structure of the Federal Institute, which now supervised and coordinated cooperation and exchange with foreign countries in a number of areas – including culture and the arts – the manner of funding also changed. The federal state covered one-third of the costs of every exhibition, and the remaining two-thirds were shared between the republics and provinces in proportion to

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the number of their participants. Only exhibitions prepared for non-aligned countries continued to be fully funded from the federal budget. Decisionmaking on international cultural exchange programs also changed, but what remained the same were the earlier-mentioned problems of sparse and insufficient information about, and professional disinterest in, Third World art cultures, especially in their contemporary art production, which continued from the previous period. The Institute’s Fine Arts Commission, now no longer composed of civil servants but of curators and art critics representing their republics and provinces, had the last word on the media structure and content of exchange exhibitions, but in the case of those intended for non-aligned countries, decisions on their destinations and spatial trajectories were made by the Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs. In the period from 1974 to 1978, when the last federal body tasked with the organization and coordination of international cultural exchange was disbanded, the exchange with non-aligned countries largely followed the model from previous decades. The content of exchange programs, apart from folklore dance groups, consisted almost entirely of high art products: classical ballet, classical music, modern art, Partisan and documentary films, with occasional presentations of contemporary film production, a modest number of exhibitions of Yugoslav postwar architecture and design, and the selection of mostly educational programs produced by Yugoslav tv centres, provided on demand. The most widespread format for circulating visual art remained the travelling exhibition, and the most widespread art medium was graphic art. The representative exhibitions, those whose content was thoroughly discussed at the meetings of the Institute’s Fine Arts Commission, were still major international exhibitions, such as the Venice Biennale and the São Paulo or Alexandria Biennales.20 Special attention was also paid to exchange exhibitions with the ussr, rarely shown outside Moscow, which required tiresome and lengthy negotiations over their content, constantly slowed down by new demands from the Soviet side. The Fine Arts Commission mostly worked according to routine, especially during 1977 and 1978 (aj, aj-465, omot 8848 (1455) M-4, Popis razmjenskih izložaba za 1977–1978, godinu, envelope 8848 (1455) M-4, List of exchange exhibitions for 1977–1978),21 when the volume of exhibitions that had to be organized increased significantly because of preparations for Yugoslavia’s participation in the sixth Non-Aligned Movement

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summit in Havana. The pace of its activities before 1977 was slower and less stressful, but not for the museums and galleries in all Yugoslav republics. The earlier Commission for Foreign Cultural Relations had relied on museum institutions in Belgrade, Zagreb, and Ljubljana to prepare outgoing exhibitions22 because of the size and Yugoslav component of their collections, international connections and experience of their curatorial teams, and the traffic and communications infrastructure of these cities, which allowed for the efficient organization and transport of exchange exhibitions to their distant destinations. With the introduction of the “republican key,” the museums of other republics and provinces became fully involved in organizing exchange exhibitions for the first time, and in just a few years they significantly increased the visibility of their national arts.23 They had, admittedly, been involved in international cultural exchange programs before, but not with the same intensity as after 1974. From the foundation of the Commission for Foreign Cultural Relations in 1953 until 1974, museums and galleries in Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, and Macedonia were mostly passive recipients of exchange exhibitions, although the more spectacular ones, which later proved important for the Yugoslav art scene, often bypassed them. It could even be argued that the map of the Yugoslav cultural space, drawn by the trajectories of cooperation between museums and the Commission for Foreign Cultural Relations, was identical with the spatial distribution of cultural influences in the interwar period, during the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenians. Taking into account the influence of international exhibitions on the power relations governing the Yugoslav art scene in the Cold War period, the frequent involvement of some republics in international cultural exchange, and the rather limited participation of others directs us to the question of national equality, and of even (cultural) development, built into the foundations of Yugoslav self-management socialism, which, thus far, has not been posed in relation to the content and dynamics of national participation in cultural exchange activities before 1974. Internal political affairs between 1974 and 1978 had both positive and negative effects on the activities of the Fine Arts Commission. Since the “republican key” was applied to international exchange programs, the content of exhibition projects provided more objective insight into the Yugoslav art scene, clearly pointing out the significant, objective differences between the

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six Yugoslav national arts and the arts of the ethnic communities in the two national provinces, while the titles of outgoing exhibitions reflected the growing nationalism and dissent within the ruling political class. Until 1976, the lists of exhibitions occasionally included nationally determined titles in addition to Yugoslav ones (Contemporary Macedonian Art, Contemporary Bosnian-Herzegovinan Art), but the titles of art events scheduled for 1978 had almost no reference to the common state. The abolition of the institute in 1978, and the transformation of its successor into a powerless, unimportant state office tasked with collecting statistical data was, therefore, an almost symbolic act proclaiming the disintegration of the Yugoslav common cultural space. It announced the next decade as a period of coexistence of different national programs of international cultural exchange, which require additional research. Yet another attempt in decentralizing the state system, with the enactment of the Associated Labour Act in 1976 and its implementation in the sphere of public administration in 1978, resulted in much wider opportunities for citizens to participate in most of the social and political activities that, until then, had been in the competence of public administration. This broadened the circle of actors in international cultural exchange and democratized participation in institutionally unmediated exchange and collaboration between domestic and foreign institutions and individuals, which makes the content and dynamics of such cultural interactions more difficult to position in the context of Yugoslav foreign policy in general and the Yugoslav politics of nonalignment in particular. However, if one should try to describe the characteristics of Yugoslav international cultural exchange with non-aligned countries after 1978, relying on data from the daily and specialized press, then it would primarily encompass exchange programs organized for special occasions in arrangement and under the auspices of the Federal Secretariat for Foreign Affairs. The number of such occasions decreased towards the end of the 1980s. One should, of course, keep in mind the global economic recession at the time, the change in the balance of blocs in favour of US supremacy, the collapse of the New International Economic Order (nieo), and the growing internal problems of the Non-Aligned Movement, which – together with turbulent developments on the domestic political scene and changed Yugoslav position in international politics – undoubtedly affected the entire field of international cultural rela-

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tions. While cultural interactions with nam members declined, explanations and theoretical accounts on the politics of non-alignment were growing (Tadić, Bogetić, and Bogetić 1982) . Only a few of these studies touched upon the problem of culture and its position in the overall politics of non-alignment (Vulović and Stefanović 1985). Closing the circle and finishing this explanation of Yugoslav cultural exchange where it started – with discussions on the possibilities of cultural collaboration among non-aligned countries during the Days of Information on Africa in Belgrade in 1980 – it seems important to point out the selfpositioning of Yugoslavia within the cultural geography of nam, described on that occasion by Krsto Bulajić, director of the Federal Institute for International Cooperation, established in 1979. Although it was defined as rather exclusive, assigning Yugoslavia with the role of metaphoric bridge spanning of the spatial and cultural gap between Africa and Western Europe and providing African countries with access to the European cultural scene (Kultura 1980, 114), the hegemonic overtones of such articulation were not unusual for, or specific to, Yugoslavia. As Kassou put forward in his discussion, there were quite a few locations on the political map of nam that occasionally exercised the same sort of overconfidence regarding their cultural influence on other member countries of the Movement. Comparative research on how Egypt, India, Algeria, or Cuba, for example, understood their position on that matter should be an important topic of research on cultural history and shifting nam geographies. Except for the exchange of exhibitions and the occasional and more comprehensive presentation of the overall cultural production of non-aligned countries, as with the Days of Information on Africa, there were other, more pragmatic forms of Yugoslav support to their cultural development such as, for example, the construction of art foundry in Cairo in 1964, which should also be researched. Other important aspects of Yugoslav cultural exchange with the Third World requiring thorough examination are the activities of individual artists, architects, and designers supporting the objectives of state foreign policies but working in the non-aligned countries independently without the knowledge of or any coordination with the federal commissions and institutes governing Yugoslav international cultural exchange. Although only at the preliminary stage, the first results of such investigations lead to the conclusion that such informal cultural interactions were more diverse

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and intense than expected.24 Better insight into the political reasons limiting cultural exchange with particular non-aligned countries could be gained through research on a narrower segment of the local art scene, which might be interpreted as integral to art production circulating through the transnational and transcontinental networks of solidarity with the anticolonial and anti-imperialist struggles of peoples in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. This research might pose new questions regarding Yugoslav foreign policies and find correlations and contradictions with regard to diverse emancipatory initiatives articulated in the Global South independently of the principles and objectives framing the politics of non-alignment. The abundance of information and new perspectives that might be provided by research on the above mentioned topics could also raise complex questions of the epistemic consequences of non-aligned politics and their collective internalization.

notes 1 This chapter is the result of the collaborative research project Models and Practices of Global Cultural Exchange and Non-aligned Movement. Research in the Spatio-Temporal Cultural Dynamics (ips-2020-01-3992), supported by the Croatian Science Foundation and the Slovenian Research Agency. 2 Basile Kassou visited Yugoslavia already in 1978 on the invitation of the Yugoslav Commission for Cooperation with unesco and was heavily involved in the organization of the Days of Information on African Culture. Apart from his contribution, participants in the discussion of the possibilities of developing countries’ cultural cooperation were representatives of Benin, Gabon, Ivory Coast, Tunisia, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, China, Mexico, Peru, and Nicaragua. On the Yugoslav side, these were heads of Serbian cultural institutions, prominent translators, and the director of the Yugoslav Federal Institute for International Scientific, Educational, Cultural and Technical Cooperation, Krsto Bulajić (Kultura 1980, 7). 3 The most important are the multiannual projects Nesvrstani modernizmi (Non-Aligned Modernisms) conducted at the Museum of Contemporary Art in Belgrade, https://msub.org.rs/nesvrstani-modernizmi and the research project/exhibition Južna ozvezdja: poetike neuvrščenih (Southern Constellations: The Poetics of Non-Aligned) Modern Gallery, Ljubljana, 2019, http://www. mg-lj.si/si/razstave/2439/razstava-juzna-ozvezdja-poetike-neuvrscenih/.

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4 Several local participants in the Belgrade discussions were stressing the Eurocentrism of the Yugoslav education system, itself highly regarded by unesco, as an obstacle for prompting interest in, and positive reception of, Third World culture (Kultura 1980, 147–50, 157). 5 According to information obtained from Zlatan Prelog, tv director and, from 1976 on, head of Zagreb Radio Television (rtz) Education Programme Unit, responsible for production of the School, Scientific and Adult Education Programmes, the bbc was also interested in buying some rtz educational serials in the late 1970s. 6 An example of the historical perseverance of socialist realism is the situation at the art scene of Bosnia-Herzegovina. Thanks to a group of artists whose political capital was based on their participation in the National Liberation War and who gained social power by executing major state commissions, diverse variants of socialist realism remained the dominant option on the art scene of that Yugoslav republic until the early 1970s. Given its “hard” antimodernism, it is no surprise – though it is somewhat paradoxical, given the political biography of the author – that the translation of Hans Sedlmyr’s tract Verlust der Mitte was published in Sarajevo already in 1957. 7 Yugoslavia was member of insea (International Association of Education through Arts, founded in 1954) since 1955; member of aica (Association Internationale des Critiques d’Art, founded in 1950) since 1953; member of uia (Union Internationale des Architectes, founded in 1948) since 1950. 8 L’art Médiévale Yougoslave, Musée des monuments Française, Paris, 3 March 1950–22 May 1950. 9 expo ’58, Heysel Plateau, Brussels, 17 April 1958–19 October 1958. 10 L’art sur le sol yougoslave de la préhistoire à nos jours, Grand Palais, Paris, 2 March 1971–23 May 1971. 11 A number of local participants in the Belgrade roundtable discussions on cultural cooperation among non-aligned countries put forward the lack of information as the most serious problem for Yugoslav cultural and media workers (translators, literary and art critics, journalists), supporting the presentation of nam contemporary cultures to the Yugoslav general public (Kultura 1980, 51–2). 12 This includes the document “Report on the Exhibition Negro Art” by a Belgrade Museum of Applied Art curator who was involved in the organization of the exhibition (typewritten, two pages, unsigned, undated).

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13 From 1952 on, and as a result of an effort to collect and preserve the objects documenting and commemorating the National Liberation Struggle and civil victims of fascism, a number of municipal and city museums were established in Yugoslavia. At the end of the 1950s, most of these institutions already had modern and contemporary art collections. Using public funds for culture, they purchased artworks from local artists and artists from other Yugoslav republics whose artworks corresponded with the media scope and aesthetic profile of these collections. In the 1960s and 1970s, local oil companies and industrial enterprises also developed contemporary art collections available for both their workers and the general public. 14 Statement from the 1968 manifesto of the Al-Ru’yah al-Jadida (New Vision) art group, quoted in Saad, 2008. 15 See, for example, the production of India’s Lalit Kala Academy from the early 1950s. 16 Documentation on the exhibition Five Thousand Years of Egyptian Ceramics in the archival collection of the Commission for Cultural Relations (aj, ajskkvi-559/86) is rather scarce and does not provide information about other locations where it was displayed prior to its arrival in Belgrade. However, according to the tone of these documents, it might be that the exhibition was touring Eastern bloc countries and ussr. 17 Arte Senegalese d’oggi, Palazzo Braschi, Rome, 15 April 1975–15 May 1975. The exhibition was promoted by the Italian-African Institute and sponsored by the president of the Republic, Giovanni Leone, and by the president of Senegal, Léopold Sédar Senghor; link to the tv report on the opening venue, retrieved 23 March 2021, from https://patrimonio.archivioluce.com/luceweb/detail/IL5000044515/2/italia-inaugurata-roma-mostra-arte-senegaleseoggi-promossa-dall-istituto-italo-africano-e-patrocinata-dal-presidentedella.html&jsonVal. 18 This contains a letter from the Yugoslav Embassy in Rome, catalogue of the exhibition Arte Senegalese d’oggi, a brochure containing explanations of Senegalese and West African contemporary artistic cultures, and the offer from the Italian-African Institute to transfer the exhibition to Yugoslavia. 19 The presented graph is based on data collected at Archive of Yugoslavia, fund 320 Federal Committee for Science and Culture (1971–78); fund 465 Federal Institute for International Scientific, Educational-Cultural and Technical Cooperation, 1953–91); fund 559 Federal Commission for Cultural Relation with

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Foreign Countries, 1953–71. Due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the list of exhibitions is incomplete and has to be supplemented with additional data from the Archive of Visual Arts of Croatian Academy of Science and Arts, Archives of the Museum of Contemporary Art in Zagreb, and Archive of the Museum of Contemporary Art in Belgrade. However, regardless of the incompleteness of data sets, one could expect that neither the relation between the number of outgoing and incoming exhibitions, nor the relation between exhibitions of modern art and those presenting the artefacts of ancient (traditional) cultures will be much different. The records of the commission’s regular meetings, kept in the archival fund of the Institute (Archive of Yugoslavia, fund 465 Federal Institute for International Scientific, Educational, Cultural and Technical Cooperation), are an interesting source of information on cultural differences among Yugoslav republics and provinces. However, one should be careful in discerning the personal taste and aesthetic preferences of the commission’s members and standpoints reflecting the particularities of their national art scenes. Mention is made of exhibitions in East Africa, Latin America, India, and Madagascar, participation at the biennials in Alexandria and Sao Paolo, the touring exhibition of architecture in “several developing countries”; incoming exhibitions of contemporary Indian art, ancient Egyptian art, handcrafts of Venezuelan Indians, Indonesian folk art, Cuban contemporary drawings. These privileged institutions were the Modern Gallery in Ljubljana, Gallery of Contemporary Art in Zagreb, Museum of Contemporary Art in Belgrade, Ethnographic Museums in Zagreb and Belgrade, Yugoslav Army Centre Gallery, Museum of Applied Art and National Museum in Belgrade, and Modern Gallery in Rijeka. In 1976, the Art Gallery of Bosnia and Herzegovina organized the exhibitions Contemporary Yugoslav Art (Algeria, Tunisia, and Morocco) and Contemporary Art of Bosnia and Herzegovina (Tunis, Susa). An agreement on cooperation between the art associations of Bosnia and Herzegovina and Tunisia was signed in the same year (29 January 1976), which included an exchange of exhibitions from Sarajevo, Tuzla, and Mostar with Tunis, Bizerte, and Sousse and participation of Tunisian artists in the Počitelj and Ostrošac art colonies (aj-465-276). One example of “parallel diplomacy” is the activities of Macedonian painter Borko Lazeski, who was professor of monumental painting at Baghdad Academy from 1963 to 1967 and produced numerous artworks in Jordan, Syria,

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references aj. Archives of Yugoslavia, Belgrade, Serbia. Various funds and dates. Denegri, Ješa. 1995. Pedesete: Teme srpske umetnosti, 1950–1960. Belgrade: Svetovi. Fillitz, Thomas. 2016. “The Biennial of Dakar and South–South Circulations.” Artl@s Bulletin 5 (2), Article 6. Galimberti, Jacopo. 2018. Individuals against Individualism: Art Collectives in Western Europe (1956–1969). Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Grabski, Joanna, and Elizabeth Harney. 2006. “Painting Fictions/Painting History: Modernist Pioneers at Senegal’s Ecole Des Arts: (With Commentary).” African Arts 39 (1): 38–94. Guilbaut, Serge. 1985. How New York Stole the Idea of Modern Art. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Houenoude, Didier Marcel. 2016. Paradigmes de l’identité dans la création contemporaine. Paris: Edilivre. Kassou, Basile T. 1980. “Perspektive i svrha kulturne saradnje nesvrstanih zemalja.” Kultura 51–52: 99–114. Kolešnik, Ljiljana, ed. 2004. Art and Ideology. The Nineteen-Fifties in a Divided Europe. Zagreb: Croatian Association of Art Historians. – 2005. “Prilozi interpretaciji hrvatske umjetnosti 50-ih godina. Prikaz formativne faze odnosa umjetnosti i socijalističke Države.” Radovi Instituta za povijest umjetnosti 29: 307–15. – 2006. Između Istoka i Zapada: hrvatska umjetnost i likovna kritika 50-ih godina. Zagreb: Institut za povijest umjetnosti. – 2012. “Conflicting Visions of Modernity and the Post-War Modern Art.” In Socialism and Modernity: Art, Culture, Politics, 1950–1974, edited by Ljiljana Kolešnik, 145–83. Zagreb: Museum of Contemporary Art, Institute of Art History, Erste Stiftung. Konaté, Yacouba. 2009. La Biennale de Dakar. Pour une esthétique de la création africaine contemporaine – tête à tête avec Adorno. Paris: L’Harmattan, La Bibliothèuqe d’Africultures. Kultura. 1980. “Časopis za teoriju i sociologiju kulture i kulturnu politiku,” 51–2. Kuwait Declaration. 1977. “The Kuwait Declaration on Technical Cooperation

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amongst Developing Countries / Déclaration de Koweït sur la Coopération Technique parmi les Nations en Développement.” Africa Development / Afrique Et Développement 2 (2): 125–33. Merenik, Lidija. 2001. Ideoloski modeli: Srpsko slikarstvo 1945–1968. Belgrade: Beopolis. Merhar, Teja. 2018. “International Collaborations in Culture between Yugoslavia and the Countries of the Non-Aligned Movement.” In Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned, curated by Bojana Piškur, 43–72. Ljubljana: Moderna Galerija. Exhibition catalogue. Mikkonen, Simo, and Pia Koivunen. 2015. “Beyond the Divide. Introduction.” In Beyond the Divide Entangled Histories of Cold War Europe, edited by Simo Mikkonen and Pia Koivunen, 1–19. Oxford: Berghahn Books. Murphy, David. 2016. “The Performance of Pan-Africanism: Staging the African Renaissance at the First World Festival of Negro Arts.” In The First World Festival of Negro Arts, Dakar 1966: Contexts and Legacies, 1–42. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Ofak, Ana. 2019. Agents of Abstraction. Berlin: Sternberg Press. Official Gazette of the Federal People’s Republic of Yugoslavia. 1953. “Uredba o osnivanju Komisije za kulturne veze sa inozemstvom. Službeni list Federativne Narodne Republike Jugoslavije (Regulation on Founding the Commission for Cultural Relations with Foreign Countries).” 11/12, 18 March 1953. Pensa, Iolanda. 2011. La Biennale de Dakar comme projet de coopération et de développement. Paris: Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales. Piškur, Bojana. 2019. “Southern Constellations: Other Histories, Other Modernities.” In Southern Constellations: The Poetics of the Non-Aligned, 9–24. Ljubljana: Moderna Galerija. Exhibition catalogue. Saad, Qassim. 2008. “Contemporary Iraqi Art: Origins and Development.” Scope 3 (November): 54. Sladojević, Ana. 2013. Images of Africa. Belgrade: Museum of Contemporary Art. Tadić, Bojana, Olivera Bogetić, and Dragan Bogetić. 1982. Osobenosti i dileme nesvrstanosti. Hronika nesvrstanosti: 1956–1980. Belgrade: Komunist. Unkovski-Korica, Vladimir. 2016. The Economic Struggle for Power in Tito’s Yugoslavia: From World War II to Non-Alignment. London: I.B. Taurus. Videkanić, Bojana. 2019. Nonaligned Modernism: Socialist Postcolonial Aesthetics in Yugoslavia, 1945–1985. Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Vuletić, Dean. 2012. “Sounds as America: Yugoslavia’s Soft Power in Eastern

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Europe.” In Divided Dreamworlds? The Cultural Cold War in East and West, edited by Giles Scott-Smith, Peter Romijn, and Joes Segal, 115–31. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Vulović, Dobrica, and Slobodan Stefanović, eds. 1985. Kulturološki aspekti politike nesvrstanosti. Belgrade: Centar za marksizam Univerziteta u Beogradu, Marksistički centar organizacije sk, Međunarodna politika. Wofford, Tobias. 2009. “Exhibiting a Global Blackness: The First World Festival of Negro Arts.” In New World Coming: The Sixties and the Shaping of Global Consciousness, edited by Karen Dubinsky, Catherine Krull, Susan Lord, Sean Mills, and Scott Rutherford, 179–83. Toronto: Between the Lines.

8 Film as the Memory Site of the 1961 Belgrade Conference of Non-Aligned States Mila Turajlić

The Misappropriated Image During the summer of 2011, I was granted authorization by the Serbian Ministry of Foreign Affairs to film the celebration of the fiftieth anniversary of the Belgrade conference of the non-aligned countries. The government had convened a ministerial conference at the beginning of September in the Serbian capital, thus celebrating the key role Belgrade had played in hosting this historic event half a century previously. My interest in filming the commemoration stemmed from research I was doing into the filmed archives of the original 1961 summit. I was interested in tracing the continuities and ruptures between the two moments and investigating the way the differences in their media representations spoke to a half-century of political upheavals. The ministerial conference was like a puzzle piece that left one scratching one’s head over where to fit it into a commemorative narrative that had long since abandoned the complex non-aligned jigsaw puzzle. All the more so because Serbia then, as now, is not a member of the Non-Aligned Movement, enjoying only observer status. It was only if one was abreast of political currents running through the organizers’ intentions that the piece fell into place. On 23 June 2011, Serbia’s minister of Foreign Affairs Vuk Jeremić had been elected as president of the United Nations General Assembly, a position he would hold from September 2012 to September 2013. This launched Jeremić’s candidacy for the position of secretary general of the un, and by the summer of 2011, the campaign was fully underway. The ministerial meeting in Belgrade

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was thus seized upon by the Serbian government as an opportunity to reclaim the mostly discarded memory of Yugoslavia’s role in the non-aligned group. Cloaked in the mantle of the country that had hosted the first non-aligned summit in 1961, Serbia’s political leadership greeted foreign ministers of 113 countries in the same Parliament building in which President Tito had hosted the heads of the initial twenty-five non-aligned countries. Serbia’s ambivalent relationship with the legacy of Tito’s Yugoslavia had changed the commemorative landscape of the country to the point where non-alignment had been relegated to the domain of personal souvenirs and private memories. While some streets still bore the names of the leaders who had attended the non-aligned summit, the monument erected to mark the event was graffitied and unknown to a large number of Belgraders. This was also the case of the Friendship Park in New Belgrade, where the leaders had planted trees with the help of young Scouts. The belated attempt to resuscitate the spirit of 1961 was a stilted affair, dominated by heavy protocol, wordy speeches that rang hollow, and stage-managed photo-ops. In contrast to images of the streets of Belgrade in 1961, lined with enthusiastic supporters and curious passers-by, the conference was roped off from the public and the city went about its business, largely indifferent to this gathering of elites that seemed far removed from their daily concerns. From where I was filming, what felt like a narrative appropriation driven by political ambitions was playing out, which might be the reason why I struggled to make sense of how to capture the event in a meaningful way. After two days of the filmic equivalent of treading water, it came to my attention that the Museum of Yugoslavia, which houses Tito’s grave, had extended its working hours late into the night to accommodate the desires of various guests to visit the grave when the working sessions of the conference were over. Alexis de Tocqueville (2004) had a theory about roundabouts (rond-points). In his search to describe and capture the essence of American democracy, he wrote that it is important to find the site to which all roads lead and where they intersect. If you find the roundabout, de Tocqueville wrote, everything is revealed in a single glance of the eye. That night, I found my filmmaking roundabout. In the atrium of the House of Flowers, where Tito’s grave is positioned centre-stage, an entire side wall had been covered with the iconic photograph of the leaders assembled at the 1961 Belgrade summit. Stretching across the five metre wall, the aligned bodies of the non-aligned leaders were

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8.1 A wall-size enlargement of the photograph of the delegates to the first non-aligned summit in Belgrade, on display at Tito’s grave during the 2011 ministerial conference.

larger than life-size, a visual vigil standing guard over Tito’s tomb. The visiting guests were lingering in front of it, playing what can be described as a quiz of historical identification, challenging each other to recognize the statesmen in the image and correctly identify the countries they represented. On that night in 2011, fifty years after the days Belgrade had hosted the first non-aligned summit, I filmed politicians from 113 countries and their spouses milling around the towering image of their political ancestors. Despite the fact that many of these ancestors, like Tito himself, had been written out of the historical narratives of their countries in the decades since, they posed for photos at their side, taking selfies in the contentious shadows of their elders. To me their cameras’ flashes were the embodiment of Walter Benjamin’s (2005) metaphor of a memory flashing up through spatial imagery. For Benjamin, the image that flashes up from the ruin, or in the midst of the ruin, is the source of remembrance acting as a historical relay between the revolutionary past and the revolutionary action of the present: “On one hand it’s a moment. On the other hand it’s a historical era in a moment” (Butler 2011). To take Benjamin’s concept further, if the 1961 non-aligned summit crystallizes into an image, it can emerge as an era; it can become understood or

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apprehended against the oblivion into which such events dissolve. For Benjamin, this collusion, or collision, of temporalities becomes a constellation. Yet, while it was clear that the visiting guests had connected with the photo, it was harder for me to discern whether they were apprehending the image of a legacy or in fact the legacy of an image. Could the image of the conference be all there was to transmit of it? Taking a selfie in front of this image, adding their bodies to a historic line-up, they appeared to be wilfully inscribing themselves into a political filiation, creating a constellation full of potentialities. I was left with the question of whether the substance of the non-aligned legacy today, surfacing in this apparition of an image, revealed something of its essential nature as a vector of political thought. As Benjamin’s notion of resurfacing debris felt like the appropriate metaphor in my research of the visual archives of the non-aligned summit, it also pushed me to commit to the gesture of organizing this visual debris into new constellations.

The Unseen Image Faced with the erased geographic markers of Belgrade’s capital place in the non-aligned landscape, I became interested in creating an inventory of the image(ry) debris floating around the city. I embarked on a project to collect the remaining audio-visual archival recordings of the Belgrade summit that were kept in Belgrade. For this process too, Benjamin has an appropriate metaphor. Likening the search for memory to excavation, he notes that “an archaeologist who simply digs up the earth to get at artifacts without carefully noting the layers of earth from which they have been excavated would be throwing away the true subject of enquiry.” Thus, Benjamin (2005, 576) argues that “true memory requires us to recall an event not just in the context of its own layer, but also in the context of all of the layers that we had to dig through in order to get to it.” The metaphorical soil in which the sounds and moving images of the first non-aligned summit are buried are the archives of the Yugoslav Newsreels (Filmske novosti), the institution charged by the government to film the event and produce a series of documentary films about it, the national broadcaster, Radio Television Serbia, who at the time had done the first live broadcast in its history to report from the summit, and Radio Belgrade.

8.2–8.3 Most Belgraders would not be able to identify this obelisk as the monument to the first non-aligned summit despite the graffiti-covered commemorative plaque dedicating it to the 1961 and 1989 summits.

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Filmske novosti had been the only film production studio in socialist Yugoslavia that was directly answerable to the federal government. In the way their initial mandate – to record the political, social, and cultural life of Yugoslavia – was formulated, the afterlife of the newsreels once they were no longer news had not been given much consideration. Thus, the archiving of these images was an unanticipated and very much secondary task for the people running the institution, all the way into the late 1980s. The break-up of Yugoslavia during the 1990s left Filmske novosti in a legal vacuum, as they were a federal public institution (Savezna javna ustanova) in a country that was no longer a federation, and hence, there was no legal entity that could name a director to head the institution. In 2005, when I began research at the archive (for my first film Cinema Komunisto), Filmske novosti had not had an appointed director in years, and there was no one who could officially authorize me to access their archives or approve my right to use them. Floating in a legal vacuum until Serbia adopted a new constitution in 2006, the archive films of Filmske novosti were very much orphans, in a double sense – legally and ideologically. In the decade that followed, I witnessed them returning to the public’s interest only to pique tabloid stories of “Tito’s hidden films” and to spin tales of Yugoslavia’s socialist life. After a decade of researching the archive materials on a quest to understand cinema’s role in the construction of the political narrative of Yugoslavia (a topic I explore in Cinema Komunisto), by 2015 I had turned my attention to their so-called non-aligned collection. I had abandoned the idea of making a documentary film about the Non-Aligned Movement following the underwhelming event I had filmed in 2011, but four years later, I had found another angle from which to tell the story. I set about viewing the archives filmed by Filmske novosti cameramen at non-aligned summits, starting with the first one in 1961. In the days after the first summit, Filmske novosti edited and released a three-part black and white special entitled The Belgrade Conference, of thirty-six minutes’ duration, and a ten minute colour film entitled Historic Conference in Belgrade. While Filmske novosti records indicated the existence of an additional thirty-six reels of outtakes from the conference (in black and white), a physical search of their depot unearthed only twenty-four such reels. Marked PO for Pozitiv ostaci (positive outtakes), this was footage that was developed onto positive 35mm film stock but ultimately unused in the edited films. The twenty-four reels are thus a haphazard assembly of outtakes,

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slapped together without any order. In June 2020, with Jovana Kesić, the head of Filmske novosti’s film archive, we undertook to view and inventory these shots, digitalizing the majority for a research project I had started in collaboration with Filmske novosti titled Non-Aligned Newsreels. A fortnight of viewing and scanning allowed us to create a precise list of content. On eight of the reels were extracts of speeches, while sixteen were jumbled bits and pieces of conference proceedings, the operations of the press centre, and delegates extracurricular activities. What became striking, as I organized the digitized outtakes, was both the media presence at the conference and the way the cameramen filming it had chosen to focus on it – in a way making a meta behind-the-scenes filmed document of their own presence. In Jurgen Dinkel’s (2019, 207) text on non-aligned summits as media events, he notes that: “lacking hard power in military or economic terms, the nonaligned countries tried to achieve their foreign policy aims through increasingly symbolic performative actions, such as summitry, (visual) propaganda geared towards a global mass media … to influence an assumed ‘world opinion’ and make their voice heard in international politics.” When the Belgrade summit began on 1 September 1961, it was attended by twenty-five participating countries, three observer countries, and thirty-eight revolutionary and anticolonial movements and groups from around the world. The prime minister of Burma, U Nu (1961), declared that the conference was important because “the whole world has its eyes on Belgrade today.” The number of journalists attending and the organization of the press pool and photo service left an impression on the visiting delegates. Around 850 journalists from international press outlets and news agencies were accredited for the conference. The Trades Unions’ Hall (Dom sindikata) was turned into a press centre, equipped with five rooms in which journalists could watch the conference proceedings via the live television broadcast, translated into four different languages. There were thirty telephone cabins to place international calls and thirty-three teleprinters and radio operator stations, which also enabled the tele-sending of photographs. These cutting-edge technologies were all featured in the Filmske novosti newsreel shown in Yugoslav cinemas on the day before the summit began (Archives of Filmske novosti [fn], Belgrade 35/61), setting up the media importance of the event for local audiences, and serving at the same time to underscore Yugoslavia’s modernity.

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8.4–8.6 Opposite and Above Scanning and inventorying the Pozitiv Ostaci (Positive Outtakes) from the Belgrade summit, June 2020.

To understand the way the political decision-making operated behind the media infrastructure created for the conference, I decided to expand my research to documents held in the Archive of Yugoslavia, notably in the funds of the Secretariat of Information and the Cabinet of the President of the Republic. These reveal that the filming of the summit was of paramount political importance, and that the summit’s Organizing Committee authorized a sum of around $300,000 for the purchasing of transmission equipment necessary for the television station to set up the live broadcast and for Filmske novosti to import the film stock they needed and purchase two additional cameras (Archive Yugoslavia [aj], sinf f.40, Samit priprema FN konsultacije, 26 June 1961). Documents tracing the work of the Organizing Committee reveal the decision was taken to position tv cameras in the plenary hall but to allow them only to broadcast the opening session (aj, 837 kpr 1–4-a2, K-201, Radna grupa Kabineta Predsednika Republike, 26 June 1961). The opening and closing sessions were broadcast by eight television stations that Yugoslav television

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had partnered with (aj, 837 kpr 1–4-a2, K-201, Izveštaj pripreme, 25 August 1961). Concerning the remaining conference proceedings, they were to be filmed but not televized. In addition to being charged with this task, Filmske novosti were commissioned to produce a colour film on the summit, at Tito’s direct request (Labudović 2017; Martinković 1961). Fifty years later, this colour film would reappear in the context of the nonaligned reassembling in Belgrade. The organizers of the 2011 event boasted that the conference, billed as Belgrade hosting the non-aligned “for the third time,” had attracted 1,700 accredited participants, more than 500 journalists and 178 news teams from more than 120 newsrooms. In the conference bag given to all attendees was a dvd of the colour film of the 1961 Belgrade summit, produced by Filmske novosti. The opening credits indicate the film was shot by Stevan Labudović. Labudović, who was eighty-four at the time and living in Belgrade, had filmed both the 1961 and the 1989 summits. It is unlikely that the conference organizers who were handing out copies of his film realized this, as he did not attend the conference events. Three years later, I would start shooting a documentary film with him. Stevan Labudović was the last living cameraman of Filmske novosti. He had spent his entire career in the institution, starting as an assistant cameraman in 1948, becoming the newsreels’ correspondent from Slovenia during the time of the Trieste crisis in the early 1950s, and then being assigned to film President Tito’s Voyages of Peace in the non-aligned world, beginning with the journey by ship to India and Burma in 1954 (see Willetts, this volume). Filming Tito’s diplomatic encounters, he had documented practically every major milestone in the creation of the Non-Aligned Movement, from Tito’s first encounter with Nehru and then Nasser on the 1954 trip, to their meeting on the island of Brijuni in the summer of 1956, and Tito’s first trip to address the United Nations in 1960, during which Labudović had filmed the so-called Initiative of Five at the Yugoslav Mission to the un, where Tito had gathered Nehru, Nasser, Sukarno, and Nkrumah in what was effectively the first public appearance of the non-aligned on the world stage. Thus it was that, in the run-up to the Belgrade summit, Labudović had been chosen to film the commemorative colour film of the event. According to Labudović, he would shoot with three different cameras – his standard 35 mm Arriflex shooting black and white, a second camera with colour film, and

8.7–8.8 Stevan Labudović filming at the non-aligned summit with his Arriflex 35mm camera and screenshots from the Positive Outtakes of the Belgrade conference.

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a sound-recording camera during the plenary sessions. Working with Labudović by filming his recollections and going through his private papers with him gave me a different insight into the archival images of the conference and, most importantly, added the perspective of the people making them.

The Misplaced Image While Serbia’s political and diplomatic resurrection of non-alignment was an ambiguous affair, it came at a time of international awakening of interest in the reconsideration and reactivation of non-aligned principles, particularly in academic and artistic spheres. Numerous conferences, publications, and exhibitions were mounted from 2005, sparked by the fiftieth anniversary of the Bandung conference. As Naoko Shimazu (2014) wrote in her paper on the Bandung conference as “cultural history” – and in contrast to Serbia’s uneasy relationship with its role in the Non-Aligned Movement – within Indonesia’s national narrative, the conference “still holds monumental significance … by placing Indonesia and its leader Sukarno firmly on the map of the post-war world.” Historical scholars, suspicious of national narratives and symbolic mythmaking, thus distinguish between “two Bandungs.” “One was the real conference, about which not very much is known, about which people care even less, and which has faded away like a bad dream. The other was a quite different conference, a crystallization of what people wanted to believe had happened which, as a myth, took on reality in the Bandung Principles and, later, in the Bandung Spirit” (Hayden quoted in Vitalis 2013). Historians such as Robert Vitalis have laboured meticulously to dispel the countless “fairytales” that have been spun around the event in the decades since, most notably in his text “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung” (2013). Shimazu (2014) pushes back against this dismissal of the mythic saying: “To me, these references are not simply overly ‘romanticized’ views of the conference but actually reveal a profound point. That is the value of the Bandung conference lies essentially with the symbolic, especially as it produced few tangible results.” Shimazu concludes that to understand this symbolic legacy one needs to analyze the success of Bandung as a theatre of diplomatic performance.

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Using Shimazu’s (2014) conceptual framework of “diplomacy as theatre,” where in “the city of Bandung in Indonesia spatially and temporally a ‘stage’ was created to enable ‘performances’ to take place not only by ‘actors’ but also between ‘actors’ and ‘audiences,’” I would extend the argument with an examination of how, in Belgrade, that performance was oriented towards and represented in the media. I would also suggest that it is this aspect that is central to its symbolic legacy. Documents from the preparation of the Belgrade summit reveal that in June 1961, three months before the summit – and once it had been decided it was to be hosted by Yugoslavia – a meeting took place to decide on the place it would be held, as Tito’s residence on the island of Brijuni was being considered (aj, 837 kpr 1–4-a2, K-201, Beograd ne Brioni, 13 June 1961). The representatives of the Ministry of Interior Affairs and the army were present, along with officials from the Secretariat of Information, Yugoslav Television, and Tanjug, the Yugoslav News Agency. The argument advanced in the group’s report in favour of hosting the conference in Belgrade is that “the publicity of this conference is essential to its prestige in world public opinion … and it is absolutely necessary to enable domestic and foreign journalists, radio and tv commentators to directly follow the work of the conference.” The report points out that this required around “330 technical staff for postal and telephone services, radio, television, film and press service,” for which there was no possible accommodation on Brijuni, underlining as well that radiotelephone and radiotelegraphic lines with overseas destinations and Asian countries were all located in Belgrade. Thus, Belgrade became the “stage” for the conference in large part due to the communications infrastructure it could provide to satisfy the conference’s media requirements. Shimazu’s text analyzes how Bandung was prepared as a theatrical space, and the make-over of the city she describes mirrors the approach taken in Belgrade – from the installation of completely new bus and tram stops to the destruction of derelict houses and the moving of Belgraders to newly built accommodations. Documents of the preparatory committee for the Belgrade conference show the designs of the panels with messages that were erected around the city. In his reportage from Belgrade, the nbc reporter would note that one such message, concerning world peace, was expressly positioned across the street from the United States’ Embassy (nbc News Archive 1961a). Another key element of the public staging was the exhibition created in the park across the street from the National Assembly building where the

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conference was to be held. Large-scale panels containing information about each country participating in the summit, its history and political system, including a photo of the head of state, were set up, aiming to inform the public about the personalities that would be arriving in Belgrade. A report on these panels was included in the newsreel that was shown in cinemas on the day before the conference started, showing older citizens, but also schoolchildren, studiously taking notes from the panels in the park. For Naoko Shimazu (2014, 234), in addition to the stage, the two other constitutive components of the diplomatic theatre experience are the performers and the audience. In addition to the obvious “performers” – the conference delegates and other nondelegate attendees and journalists – Shimazu identifies the local audience as “performers” too, “as their role lends credence to the whole event and, indeed, forms an integral part of the visual tapestry of the conference.” Thus, for Shimazu, the third component – the audience – is “the respective national audiences of individual national leaders, eagerly watching the ‘performance’ of their leaders on the world stage in Bandung. Then, of course, there is an even larger and more amorphous constituency of what one might call the global audience.” Of course, this global audience is reached via the presence of global media at the event. Applying the same categorization to Belgrade, one sees in the filmed archives that the performers – both delegates and Belgraders – were more than aware of their roles. In his analysis of the event, Dinkel (2019, 73) points out that many of the attending leaders “ruled over states that, in 1961, had only been independent for a few months [and] saw the conference as a chance to present themselves as rulers and assert their legitimacy vis-à-vis both their own population and other states.” Dinkel references the elements of pageantry that serve to signify this status via the ceremonial greetings at the airport and motorcades through city streets (211), all of which were featured in the filmed reports of the conference. The outtakes of the filmed material include interesting moments in which the cameramen chose to focus on the media consumption of the “performers,” in effect closing the circle as they become the audience of their own performance. Focusing on the Belgraders, who are at once both audience and performers, completing the picture of the summit as speaking for the people and channelling people’s hopes, the cameramen filmed their behaviour on the streets. Analyzing the contacts between the delegates and the crowds in Bandung,

8.9–8.10 Screenshots from the Positive Outtakes of the Belgrade conference of Belgraders studying the information panels in Pioneer’s Park.

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8.11 Screenshot from Positive Outtakes of President Sukarno watching the broadcast of the conference in a salon in the National Parliament where the conference was taking place.

Shimazu (2014) demonstrates that while the public were not participants in the conference, the choreography of public movement was such that “the people of Bandung were allowed close physical proximity not just to ordinary delegates but also to high-profile statesmen … allowing for a continuous interaction … as though a week-long theatre was being staged.” Shimazu notes that, already by the Belgrade conference only six years later, “international conferences became increasingly defined by the sense of distance imposed between the people and the delegates, due to the ever-growing concern for total security.” Indeed, at the Belgrade conference, the filmed documents reveal very few moments of direct interaction between the delegates and the public. The exceptions are the moments in which the delegates were taken to plant trees in the newly created Park of Friendship, where the Young Forester’s movement, who had initiated the idea, gave them commendation pins and posed with them for a photo.

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8.12 Screenshot from Positive Outtakes of Prime Minister Nehru reading a press report on his speech in the Daily Herald in the Plenary Hall of the National Parliament where he had given his speech the previous day.

As Dinkel (2019) points out, “It is only the performative aspect of diplomacy that gives any meaning to diplomacy as far as the ‘public’ is concerned because it is the only aspect which is visible to non-participants.” Thus, the Belgraders embraced their role in a media performance destined to be distributed internationally, enthusiastically greeting the guests in the streets, but also being filmed watching the television broadcast from tvs set up in public spaces – private television sets being an extreme rarity in those days – and following the proceedings on the radio. Documents from the Organizing Committee show that, for them, engaging the local audience was paramount, and they planned ways to keep them informed. Filmske novosti was charged with making two special films for the “Yugoslav audiences” to be shown in cinemas on 6 September, the closing day of the conference, and on 12 September (aj, 837 kpr 1–4-a2, K-201, Izveštaj pripreme, 25 August 1961). One aspect that was visibly missing in the 2011

8.13–8.14 Screenshots from Positive Outtakes of President Sukarno planting a tree in Friendship Park and of President Bourguiba of Tunis posing with the youth after planting a tree.

8.15–8.16 Screenshots from Positive Outtakes of citizens of Belgrade greeting the arriving delegates and listening to the radio broadcast of the conference proceedings on a car radio with an African guest.

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ministerial conference performance was the audience. Belgrade did not “turn out” to greet this event or invest itself bodily in participating in it. Nor was the city spruced up in a meaningful way, one that would leave memorial traces on the cityscape. In arguing for its mediatic importance, Jurgen Dinkel reaches the striking conclusion that the lasting symbolic meaning of the conference survives through and thanks to its visuality. In some ways, the media image of the event achieves a lasting legacy as it ascends to the iconic, but at the same time, this serves to distance it further from its factual basis. Ultimately, its iconic meaning supersedes its indexical value, creating slippages. This process, through which the images become interchangeable in their representational use, was tellingly illustrated in a striking error made in the publication of the catalogue of the exhibition After Year Zero: Geographies of Collaboration (Busch and Franke 2015). In the catalogue text focused on the Bandung conference, a photo illustrating the event is provided. Showing the representative of Guinea, a country that did not become independent until three years later, it is actually a photograph of the Belgrade conference. The credit line, noting that the image was licensed from an Indonesian website, shows the extent of the error, which goes beyond the author’s misrecognition of the event to the fact that the rights’ holders of the images themselves are no longer able to identify the events they represent.

The Hidden Image If the edited films released by Filmske novosti – the weekly newsreel reports, the three-part special program entitled The Belgrade Conference, and the colour film shot by Stevan Labudović, are recordings of the performance, or the performance-writ-cinema, the outtakes reels offer a behind-the-scenes’ perspective, both of the films and the event itself. In the analysis of what was filmed but not selected for showing – essentially, what the editors-in-chief of Filmske novosti kept hidden for future generations that would not have direct memories of the event – one set of materials that emerges are the extracurricular activities of certain delegates to the conference. Entire reels of filmed material show what certain leaders were doing at moments during the conference or in the days following it, including Cey-

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8.17 Catalogue text in which an image from the Belgrade conference is erroneously used to illustrate the Bandung conference, illustrating the slippage that occurs as events ascend to the status of iconic.

lon’s Sirimavo Bandaranaike’s trip to Zagreb, where she visited a youth brigade working on the Belgrade-Zagreb Highway of Brotherhood and Unity. Another reel documents Tunisia’s President Habib Bourguiba on a shooting trip at Karadjordjevo, one of Tito’s hunting grounds. Yet another shows Algeria’s Benhedda visiting Algerian wounded veterans who had been transported for rehabilitation to Yugoslavia by the Yugoslav Red Cross. Among the more intriguing is a filmed record that apparently does not survive in Filmske novosti. No paper traces exist listing the inventory of the twelve reels of outtakes whose existence is noted but which could not be located in the Filmske novosti depot, and hence it is impossible to know what material could still be found. On them might possibly be footage that I ultimately located in an unexpected place – in the National Archives in the United States,

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where two reels of footage from the conference were deposited by the National Security Council and Central Intelligence Agency (National Archives [na], National Security Agency, cia, arc 1991041 / li 263.1672, Uncommitted). On one of them is a lengthy scene showing Archbishop Makarios III of Cyprus serving liturgy at the Cathedral Church of St Michael the Archangel in the centre of Belgrade in front of a large crowd of worshippers in the church and on the street around it. While I found a small segment of this footage shown in an nbc news broadcast (nbc News Archive 1961b), who had their own crew filming the summit in 1961, I have not found any evidence of it ever being shown publicly to Yugoslav audiences or even existing in the Yugoslav archives. This hidden image reveals the ambiguity and complexity of representations for the Yugoslav government, as Makarios was both the president of Cyprus and leader of the Cypriot Greek Orthodox Church. The Yugoslav republic of Serbia, of which Belgrade was the capital, was predominantly Orthodox, of course. Although, by the 1960s, the Yugoslav authorities were softening their stance towards religious communities (see Henig and Razsa, this volume), it is undeniable that, in the immediate postwar period, the authorities had mounted harsh attacks against religious institutions including imprisonment and nationalization of property. Hence, it may have been difficult to square the fact that Makarios embodied the non-aligned narrative of liberation, having led the Greek Cypriot struggle to decolonize from the British, with the communist/Marxist belief that religion would inevitably fade away as a social force once the working classes were conscious of its exploitative practices. In effect, in communist Yugoslavia, religion had been relegated out of the public sphere, which is why it is so striking that cameras were allowed to record such an event taking place.

The Silent Image As I enlarged my research on the filmed archives of the Belgrade summit beyond the holdings kept in Belgrade, an interesting pattern emerged. I obtained newsreel reports on the summit from France (ina, Gaumont Pathé), Germany (Bundesarchiv), the uk (British Pathé), the Netherlands (Nederlands Instituut voor Beeld en Geluid), Russia (rgakfd), Cuba (icaic), India (Films Division), and the usa (nbc, nara). In comparing the reports, with some notable

8.18–8.19 Screenshots from US film kept at nara showing Archbishop Makarios, president of Cyprus, serving liturgy at the crowded Cathedral Church in Belgrade during the summit.

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exceptions, it became obvious that, for the most part, the filmed images being used were primarily coming from “pool” footage of Filmske novosti that had been circulated via the press centre and after the summit. What was striking was that the same images were being used to illustrate wildly divergent and ideologically opposed voiceover narratives depending on the country the newsreel was created in. Hence, over the same images of the conference plenary session in which we see close-up shots of delegates listening to speeches, the Russian newsreel spoke of “an important gathering for world peace,” while the French voiceover, enunciated with clear disdain, spoke of “disinterested and sleeping participants … whom even the recent explosion of a Soviet atomic bomb had failed to wake from their drowsiness.” In direct opposition to the adage of the picture being worth a thousand words, this was an illustration of the picture being open to a thousand interpretations. Adding to their double status as orphans mentioned earlier (that of being legally uncleared and ideologically abandoned), a new aspect of their “orphaning” became apparent – in the technology of the time, which filmed image separately from recording sound, the destiny of these images was such that sound was archived separately from image, and in that sense the images became “divorced” from their original meaning and victim to imposed interpretations via battling voiceovers. Yet strikingly, in various projects and analyzes of the Belgrade summit, it is precisely this missing sound, and voices, that is evoked as the central carrier of the event’s message. In his analysis of the Belgrade conference, Jurgen Dinkel (2019, 211) puts forward the argument that the conference proceedings were staged for the mass media, and hence that in seeking the “message” of the conference it is important “to analyse the various speeches including their narratives and metaphors, symbols and actions.” Referring again to the After Year Zero: Geographies of Collaboration exhibition, one project included in the group work was the Travelling Communiqué, a presentation that describes itself as being based on “the idea that the collective statements, images and sounds announced during the first Conference of the Non-Aligned Movement, in Belgrade in 1961, are still travelling.” The project’s authors affirm “the voices exist despite efforts to silence them,” and this led me to think about the actual voices and their disappearance from public circulation. I thus set about working on reconstituting the images and sounds “announced” at the Belgrade summit. Obtaining the remaining sound

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recordings of the summit from the archives of Radio Belgrade (today part of Serbian Radio-Television) and Croatian Radio-Television, I then sought to synchronize them with the eight reels of speeches I had found among the outtake reels in Filmske novosti. It was a process rendered complicated by that fact that sound and image record at different speeds, hence requiring that short segments be synchronized at a time, and also because the speeches were in different languages (French, English, Arabic, etc.). Ultimately, with the help of a deaf-mute agency in the uk, whose collaborators are experienced lipreaders, and by working with Arab editors and translators, we managed to synchronize almost all of the filmed footage of the speeches that exist in the pozitiv ostaci, most notably, large parts of the speeches of Tito, Sukarno, and Nasser, and smaller segments of the speeches of Nehru, Nkrumah, and Keita.

The Projected Image Le cinéma seul permet à l’histoire d’être non pas réduite, mais projetée, et aux images de faire voir leurs résonances secrètes / It is only cinema which allows for history not to be reduced, but projected, and for images to reveal their secret resonances. – Walter Benjamin

As 2021 began, the coronavirus situation notwithstanding, I contacted the Serbian Ministry of Foreign Affairs to find out what events, if any, were planned for the sixtieth anniversary of the Belgrade summit. After months of administrative silence, during which it became clear that there were no commemorative events scheduled to take place, the situation abruptly changed in May 2021. During a tv appearance on 3 May 2021, Serbia’s President Vučić announced his intention to invite leaders from countries that had participated in creating the Non-Aligned Movement to a meeting in Belgrade in the autumn of 2021. Serbia’s secretary of Foreign Affairs affirmed the importance of hosting a ministerial conference as a way to “confirm Belgrade’s role, it’s natural position as a hot spot on the map of global diplomacy,” adding that it could be very important to the “authority of the country” (Baković 2021). Commentators could not help but point out that these announcements were

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8.20–8.21 Searching for the sound recordings of the Belgrade conference in the archives of Radio Belgrade, June 2020.

coming on the anniversary of the death of one of the founders of the NonAligned Movement, who remained unmentioned, despite being buried in Belgrade (Tito had died on 4 May 1980). The two-day summit took place on 11 and 12 October 2021, attracting mostly local media attention and gathering delegations from between 50 to 105 coun-

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tries, depending on the media source. With only two visiting heads of state (the Ghanaian president and the Algerian prime minister), a disparate guest list left out Cyprus, an original nam member, while including for the first time ever the presence of Russia (in July the country had been granted observer status) and nonmember “special guests” such as Turkey (a nato member). Seeing as Serbia had only observer status in nam, the organizers were at pains to highlight that the gathering did not have a political dimension but was, in the words of the Serbian minister of Foreign Affairs, “a way for everyone to show that they remember the 1961 Belgrade conference with great attention and pride” (Slobodna Evropa 2021). However, it was the political dimension of the event that was quickly criticized by commentators, from the Serbian president’s opening speech, which served as a platform for undermining the international recognition of Kosovo, to an arms’ fair that opened on the second day of the meeting on the same premises. As for their genuine interest in showing how they remember the 1961 conference, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs turned down the proposal by Filmske novosti to screen the newly synchronized archives at the commemorative event. As the event passed into oblivion, the symbolic misappropriation of the foundational principles of non-alignment by the current political agenda distanced it even further from the meanings carried by the archives of the 1961 summit. For me, working with the filmed archives of the summit and organizing for their reactivation and renewed public projection has become a project spanning ten years of research and filming. In the process, I have come to see the filmed image as the means by which the non-aligned summit had fixed the event in the people’s minds at the time, and as a site from which to project a future imaginary. And thus, the film archives are not merely a means for recalling the past but become a medium in which the past continues to exist and reconfigure itself in new constellations.

references aj. Archive Yugoslavia, Belgrade, Serbia. Various funds. Baković, Biljana. 2021. “Несврстани се на јесен враћају у Београд, Србија припрема највећи мултилатерални скуп у свету ове године.” Politika 3 (May). https://www.politika.rs/scc/clanak/478168/Nesvrstani-se-na-jesen-vracaju-uBeograd.

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Benjamin, Walter. 2005. “Excavation and Memory.” In Selected Writings, vol. 2, part 2 (1931–1934), “Ibizan Sequence,” 1932, edited by Marcus Paul Bullock, Michael William Jennings, Howard Eiland, and Gary Smith. Cambridge, Mass.: Belknap Press / Harvard University Press. Busch, Annett, and Anselm Franke. 2015. After Year Zero: Geographies of Collaboration. Warsaw: Museum of Modern Art and Chicago: Chicago University Press. Butler, Judith. 2011. “Benjamin and the Philosophy of History.” Lecture filmed at the European Graduate School, Division of Philosophy, Art and Critical Thought, Zurich, Switzerland, 11 February 2011. https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=dtRwOkGV-B4&t=2s. De Tocqueville, Alexis. 2004. Democracy in America. Washington dc: Library of America. Dinkel, Jürgen. 2019. The Non-Aligned Movement: Genesis, Organization and Politics (1927–1992). Leiden: Brill. fn. Archives of Filmske Novosti, Belgrade, Serbia. Various dates and funds. Labudović, Stevan. 2017. Filmed interview with the author. Martinković, B., dir. 1961. Beogradski samit / Istorijska konferencija u Beogradu. Filmed by Stevan Labudović, produced by Filmske novosti. 35mm, colour, 297m, ten minutes. Premiered 20 September 1961. Mitrovic A., ed. 1961. Newsreel. 295 metres, b&w. Premiered 31 August 1961. na. National Archives, National Security Agency, Washington dc. nbc News Archive. 1961a. “This is nbc News.” 3 September 1961. Clip id: arsl9 hgpnz. nbc News Archive. 1961b. “News Special: The Uncommitted.” 12 September 1961. Clip id: arxotmtr3a, Media id: S610912. Shimazu, Naoko. 2014. “Diplomacy as Theatre: Staging the Bandung Conference of 1955, Modern Asian Studies 43 (1): 225–52. Slobodna Evropa. 2021. “Samit Pokreta nesvrstanih uz rusko pomatranje u Beogradu.” Radio Slobodna Evropa 11 October 2021. https://www.slobodnaev ropa.org/a/samit-nesvrstanih-beograd/31502971.html. Turajlić, Mila, dir. and writer. 2010. Cinema Komunisto, produced by Dribbling Pictures, one hundred minutes. www.cinemakomunisto.com. U Nu. 1961. “Speech to Non-Aligned Nations Summit Meeting,” Belgrade, 2 September 1961. John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum, Digital Identifier jfkpof-104–004, https://www.jfklibrary.org/asset-viewer/archives/ JFKPOF/104/JFKPOF-104–004.

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Vitalis, Robert. 2013. “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung (Bandoong).” Humanity: an International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism and Development, 4 (2): 261–88.

part three

Economic Restructurings

9 Shades of North-South Economic Détente: Non-Aligned Yugoslavia and Neutral Austria Compared Jure Ramšak

Introduction When, in the 1970s, the contours of power in the world system became increasingly structured along economic lines (Thomas 2001, 10), two groups of countries emerged that provided support to the still consolidating Global South.1 The first was the Group of 77 Developing Countries (g-77) and the Non-Aligned Movement (nam), which mirrored the identity of developing countries and even established itself within the international community as one of their spokespersons. Within this, of course, Yugoslavia was the most significant European member, with Cyprus and Malta also members. However, the most receptive European interlocutor in this dialogue, whose likelihood of success was much greater than today’s perspective might suggest (Mazower 2012, 345), was the Like-Minded Group (lmg) of social democratic middle-sized countries (Pratt 1990) that had sought to moderate the opposition of the major Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (oecd) countries to the g-77’s main goal, the New International Economic Order (nieo).2 From 1977 onwards, the lmg included Yugoslavia’s neighbour Austria under Federal Chancellor Bruno Kreisky. Generally, the core of the lmg was situated in Northern Europe (the Netherlands, Norway, and Sweden), as still reflected in the recent scholarly literature (O’Sullivan 2015; Marklund 2020). Given the comparable views of Yugoslavia and Austria on issues regarding development and international relations in general, as

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was also confirmed by public statements of their highest representatives in the 1970s and 1980s, and the potential for the joint economic expansion of the two into the Global South, one would expect that these two countries, appearing similar in the eyes of the leaders of the Global South and “unburdened” by a colonial past,3 would assert themselves as a productive tandem in creating new patterns of economic cooperation between industrialized and developing countries. Initially, this chapter explores the not-so-different ideological baselines of the understanding of development among the economic and political elites of non-aligned and socialist self-management-embracing Yugoslavia and of neutral, liberal-democratic Austria. Later, while tracing the diplomatic strategies of the two countries, it explores the reasons this connate starting point was never reflected in a joint political agenda much less in concrete forms of tripartite economic cooperation with developing countries. This leads to the argument that European countries with different sociopolitical systems4 had little success expanding the East-West détente into a North-South rapprochement and channelling common efforts into solving acute issues outside their home continent. Insofar as the approaching external factor of the neoliberal revolution allotted a small window of time during which it was at all possible to think through such global attempts, the relationship between domestic and international politics represents an equally strong factor that should not be neglected. The aim of the chapter is to connect, through original research carried out in the Austrian and former Yugoslav state and private archives, different levels of analysis and to present those aspects of international relations between these two countries that previous historiography, focusing largely on conflictual bilateral relations, has almost completely overlooked.5 Furthermore, it contributes to the debate on Austria’s position in global dynamics during the Cold War period, which predominantly focuses on its role in East-West dialogue rather than on North-South lines of force.6 With regard to the emerging field of studying Yugoslav non-aligned internationalism,7 the present chapter aspires to provide comparative and transnational historicization of the economic component of non-alignment.

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Yugoslavia: European Spokesperson of the Global South The security issues brought about by the outbreak of the Korean War two years after Yugoslavia’s split with the Soviet Union in 1948 and the pursuit of alternative sources of economic assistance within a multilateral framework were the key factors motivating the Yugoslav redefinition of Andrei Zhdanov’s dualism and introduction of new emphases into the rhetoric of Yugoslavia’s leading representatives, such as the “development of peaceful economic, political, and cultural relations” (Rubinstein 1970, 32, 35). In line with this new, nuanced Yugoslav view, economic development required a multifaceted approach (support of small-scale industry and agriculture), and not just in terms of whether it strengthened their respective blocs, which was the approach the United States and the Soviet Union adopted in the context of the emerging global Cold War (ibid., 162–8). Already at the beginning of the 1950s, Yugoslavia declared that the biggest threat was not the division between East and West, which was considered a dangerous, but passing, phase of world history, but rather the enormous gap between the developed nations of the Northern Hemisphere and the impoverished ones of the Southern Hemisphere. In their view, this gap also posed a great threat to global stability and world peace (Pirjevec and Ramšak 2014, 40–1). The solution to this problem rested neither in restitution nor charity but in the “sound economic logic of developing a new integrated world economy,” as noted by the Yugoslav economist-diplomat Janez Stanovnik who, from 1952 to 1956, served as an economic counsellor at the Yugoslav Permanent Mission to the un and later as a chairman of the Third Committee at the first United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (unctad; Rubinstein 1970, 177). In their various functions as high-level officials at the World Bank, International Monetary Fund (imf), unctad, and the un Economic Commission for Africa, a number of other Yugoslav economists, including Dragoslav Avramović, Rikard Lang, and Radoš Stamenković, made their contribution to the discussion of mutually beneficial world trade, regularly combining Marxism with Western European and American neoclassical theory while at the same time moving their focus away from development in Western Europe towards the Global South and speaking openly about colonial domination and neocolonial hierarchies (Bockman 2020).

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The heterodox theoretical starting points of Yugoslav global engagement allowed room for differing interpretations, with Yugoslav communists, on the one hand, presenting to the domestic audience the forging of new social and economic relations globally as “further undermining the already eroded foundations of capitalism” and its characteristic system of international economic relations (Fabinc 1979, 24). On the other hand, with the chief ideologue Edvard Kardelj (1979, 185) trying to chase away the fears of non-Marxist foreign partners, as when in his lecture at the University of Dar-es-Salaam he stated that the goal of “self-determination” in the economic realm was not to subvert the capitalist world economy directly, but rather to give ideological support to Third World polities emerging from the vestiges of colonialism – buying time, as it were – as the objective process of global social transformation unfolded in the direction of the imminent victory of socialism. The idea of the nieo, as it had crystallized – largely in confirmation of the Yugoslav approach – by the beginning of the 1980s, did not diverge that much from the common development policy outlined at the 1955 Afro-Asian conference in Bandung (Rist 2008, 145–50). Stressing its conventional character, critical commentators described the nieo as linear evolutionist in its notion of social change, state-centric in its conception of the management of power in international relations, and based on theoretical assumptions resulting from a merger of neoclassical and Keynesian concepts. Behind the apparent pugnacity of the negotiators from the Global South lurked a more or less conscious desire to create societies similar to those from which their counterparts originated; that is, industrially modern ones (Preiswerk 1984, 35–9). While “catching up with the future” had been a shibboleth widespread among postcolonial leaders since the post–Second World War years (Citino 2014, 118), globalization now added a sense of interdependence, making the nieo a prime global concern. A modified, coordinated, and more rational international division of labour was not supposed to be exclusively in the interest of the developing world, but for the benefit of the global economy as a whole (McFarland 2015, 218). The aim of this plea was therefore far from demanding sacrifice on the part of the industrialized nations, but rather a “more equitable distribution of world economic opportunity” (Carré 1978, 10), which would allow developing countries – or the bourgeoisie from these countries as some critics have suggested (cf. Amin 1984) – to partake, on an equal basis, in the international division of labour.

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unctad’s vision of economic globalization was built on ideas originating from the interwar period and further developed after the Second World War by un-based economists such as Jan Tinbergen and Raúl Prebisch. Their conclusion was that socialism, not laissez-faire capitalism, provided the necessary institutions for the realization of perfect market competition (Bockman 2015, 120). While growth was still generally understood as a demand-led process (Bielschowsky and Macedo e Silva 2016), the optimistic idea of “socialist globalization” emphasized the liberalization of trade, structural adjustment, export-oriented production, the creation of well-functioning markets, and increased financial flows. The outlook of this set of proposals, which, in hindsight, might appear as parts of a neoliberal paradigm, was that only through a combination of reducing negative measures (e.g., abolishing customs duties) and inducing positive measures (proactive mechanisms such as a global system of trade preferences) would it be possible to establish a truly free market that would remedy the situation of neocolonial dependency (Bockman 2015, 110). The confluence between the neoclassical economic approach and socialism, clearly visible among leading Yugoslav economists, constituted the backdrop for Yugoslavia’s firm embrace of unctad’s idea of “socialist globalization,” which was believed to work best with socialist institutions like workers’ selfmanagement. In this sense, the initiative of the vice-president of the Yugoslav Federal Government, Anton Vratuša, to establish, in Ljubljana, the Centre for Public Enterprises in Developing Countries was an unmistakable sign of the ways Yugoslavia’s technomanagerial class took on a clear, and early, transnational dimension (Stubbs 2019). Not only among managers, global identity was also created among workers employed by big Yugoslav construction companies and exporters (Spaskovska and Calori 2021; Sekulić, this volume). Generally, Yugoslav experts grasped the issue of development, particularly concerning the Least Developed Countries, in the same way as it was conceptualized in the un, and they supported initiatives such as the 1981 First United Nations Conference on the Least Developed Countries, held in Paris (Diplomatic Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Serbia [da msp], Box 164, 422073, Belgrade, 1982). Conceived as a mixture of outwardand inward-looking strategies, the Yugoslav normative approach combined organic domestic development (diversification of the economic structure of the respective countries, maximizing local resources, endogenous industrial-

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ization, and so on) with trade-oriented economic complementarity on regional and global levels, with both avenues designed to be embedded into a system of national and international planning. The priorities were setting up the basic infrastructure, a food processing industry relying on local agriculture, a light industry able to meet rising domestic consumer demands, and a general increase in labour productivity. In entering these novel kinds of mutually beneficial ventures, partners from relatively advanced developing countries, such as Yugoslavia, were expected to pursue the goal of empowering their less-advanced partners to meet their own domestic demands, the latter to undertake commitments made to foreign partners – that is, to pay off the investment with a part of their exports. Modern joint industrial production based on domestic sources was therefore seen as an instrument to substitute, or at least decrease, costly imports and earn foreign currency at the same time. Since this endeavour required intense financial investments and technology transfers, neither of which Yugoslavia could supply, this paragon of enhanced economic cooperation was initially envisioned only as a minor supplement to the existing relations of the Global South with developed countries, which ought to remain an unavoidable partner in the process of global economic reform (ibid.).

Austria: Globalizing Austro-Keynesianism The point of departure on the road that would lead neutral Austria out of its central European orientation and closer to the Global South differed, of course, from that of Austria’s southern socialist neighbour. Permanent neutrality as one of the key provisions of the Second Austrian Republic proved to be a much less static category than it appeared at the signing of the Austrian State Treaty and the Federal Constitutional Act on the Neutrality in 1955 (Mueller 2011). Mass decolonization and the rise of Third Worldism in the global context of the 1960s were two key factors that, in 1970, made the new social democratic government steer the state from the sphere of “splendid isolation” towards so-called active neutrality.8 From the 1960s to the 1980s, during the period denominated by Franz Cede as “the mushrooming phase,” the notion of Austrian neutrality embraced a much wider range of foreign policy activities than ever before, or even since (Schmidl 2016, 37).

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At the height of the Cold War in 1962, Bruno Kreisky, the then foreign minister, reached a similar conclusion as Edvard Kardelj had some ten years previously; namely, that between the North-South and the East-West conflicts, it was the former that posed the greater threat (Röhrlich 2009, 259). Kreisky derived his anticolonialism from prewar times, but what worried him about the postcolonial amalgamation of the Global South, which manifested itself most clearly in the nam summit of 1961, was its perceived crypto-communist tendencies (Hödl 2004, 88). Austria drew somewhat nearer to this Movement later on, when it was granted guest status at the 1970 Lusaka summit and was thus able to forge direct contacts with an increasing number of members of this coalition, but little more than that (Luif 1981; Jankowitsch 2002). Despite this weak connection, Kreisky, this time as federal chancellor (1970–1983), had to fend off domestic critics. Their concerns mirrored the identity dilemma of the highly conservative Austrian political elite, namely, whether Austria was still part of the Western world or was, with these choices, already disrupting the unity of the industrialized capitalist countries (Hödl 2004, 90). Convinced of the impossibility of solving global structural problems by exclusively following market logic and of the need for an ambitious multilateral political initiative, Kreisky advocated that the redistributive model implemented at national level9 in some of the most developed countries should be transposed to the global level; that is, from industrialized to developing countries (Archives of Bruno Kreisky [ka], VII.6, Box 3, Interview with Bruno Kreisky, Chancellor of Austria, by Richard D. Bartel, Executive Editor of Challenge, Vienna, 18 June 1982.) This would by no means be an act of pure solidarity; rather a way to generate future consumers of products from the developed countries and reduce the lure of communism in the poorer parts of the world (ka, III.8, Box 10, Minutes of the Vienna Institute Board Meeting, Vienna, 16 June 1968, 37). Disappointed with the West’s development architecture and its lending policy, Kreisky first envisioned a “Marshall Plan for the Third World” in the mid-1960s, and after the 1974 recession, other leaders started to warm to such ideas, seeing them as anticyclical measures for a revival of the economy and preservation of full employment in the North (KramerFischer 1981, 145). Austria’s chancellor presented the plan in its entirety at the third conference of the United Nations Industrial Development Organization (unido) in New Delhi at the beginning of 1980 (Kreisky 1981, 852–7).

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Broadly, the Marshall Plan for the Third World envisaged the use of counterpart funds generated by the sale of goods and services from rich countries to build the infrastructure that would enable the in-flow of (primary and later also industrial) products of interest to regional and global markets from the least developed parts of the world. Its goal was to integrate the latter into the world trade system, which corresponded to the “aid by trade” principle, as the West German minister for Economic Cooperation Erhard Eppler emphasized at the board meeting of the Vienna Institute for Development (Wiener Institut für Entwicklungsfragen) in 1969 (ka, III.8, Box 10, Protokoll der Kuratoriumssitzung des Wiener Instituts für Entwicklungsfragen, Vienna, 10).10 Admiring the development cooperation efforts of the Scandinavian countries, Belgium, and the Netherlands, which allocated a significantly larger share of their gdp for development assistance than Austria did,11 Kreisky was convinced that, individually, their possibilities were limited. The massive transfer of resources needed could only be achieved by the pooled capital of oecd countries, further supported by a wave of fresh petrodollars from oil exporters (ka, VII.6, Box 3, Interview with Bruno Kreisky). The social democratic strategy of establishing a new North-South relationship had relatively more in common with Rostow’s modernization theory than with the g-77’s variant of globalization emphasizing the autonomous agency of developing countries. Kreisky’s plan was largely concentrated on Africa, where it met with approval from such ideologically diverse leaders as the Senegalese president Léopold Sédar Senghor and his Algerian counterpart Houari Boumédiène (ka, VII.6, Box 3, Federal Chancellor Dr. Bruno Kreisky: Opening and subsequent discussion of the “Colloquium on the Attitude of Trade Unions in the Developed Countries towards a New International Economic Order”). At the 1981 International Meeting on Cooperation and Development in Cancún, which Kreisky, at Willy Brandt’s behest, helped organize, though he was not actually able to participate in the event himself, his initiative was also supported by the Tanzanian president and later chairman of the South Commission, Julius Nyerere (Rathkolb 2015). In the North, however, the plan received a great deal of disapproval, even in lmg circles, with the well-known Dutch minister for Development Cooperation and later assistant secretary-general of unctad Jan Pronk criticizing the 1976 Austrian proposal to make the free industrial capacities of the developed countries available to the developing

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countries as being more tailored to the economic cycle of the former than the long-term needs of the latter (ka, VII.6, Box 9, Information für den Herrn Bundeskanzler: Zurverfügungstellung freier Industriekapazitäten zugunsten von Entwicklungsländern; Stand der bisherigen bilateralen Kontakte, Vienna, 26 April 1976). More fateful for the plan to be simply ignored rather than rejected based on sound arguments was its incongruity with the rising doctrine of neoliberalism. Kreisky’s Keynesian logic was critiqued within the oecd in 1976 as “putting the cart before the horse” (Kramer-Fischer 1981, 149), and the Reagan-Thatcher axis put a dampener on such plans a few years later. After their intervention, even a devoted Atlanticist like Kreisky realized that such an approach would never be approved in the US, the uk, and probably a few more European countries, and that the necessary financial resources were not the biggest problem (ka, VII.6, Box 3, Interview with Bruno Kreisky). During the second half of the 1970s and early 1980s, Austrian foreign policy, though not remotely as involved in the pursuit of international ambitions of their head of state as Yugoslavia’s under Tito, nevertheless thoroughly internalized the concept of development that Kreisky argued for in the international community. This stepping away from a globalization tailored to the major industrial countries was particularly obvious when they came closer to the agenda that unctad had long been striving for (liberalization of access to developed countries’ markets, establishment of a Common Fund for Commodities, facilitating technology transfer, and so on). Although an industrialized country itself, Austria was even mentioned as a possible host of the sixth session of unctad, which was eventually held in Belgrade in 1983 (ka, VII.1, Indien, Box 1, Informationen: Besuch des Herrn Bundeskanzler in Indien). Austrian business elites, although thrilled about the opening of new markets, wondered about the impact that agreeing to higher prices of raw materials or abolition of customs duties would have on their own privileged status (ka, VII.6, Box 3, Nord-Süd-Problematik, Teilnahme Österreichs an den Beratungen der “like-minded countries,” Vienna, 10 June 1977), but the state was relatively quick to integrate into its legal order some mechanisms proposed by unctad.12 The reconciliation of national economic interests with the global agenda primarily complied with the interest of nationalized industries, including steel, chemicals, and oil, which comprised as much as one-third of the national economy and which had, during the 1970s, searched hard for new markets

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(Skuhra 1981, 119–37). After the first oil crisis, Austrian exports became an important direct mechanism for maintaining full employment as the state established a system of export promotion, which was much more successful than the Yugoslav one (Stankovsky 1990, 82). Talks with the leaders of wealthier Middle Eastern and Northern African oil-producing countries suggested they were becoming an increasingly important source of foreign currency, not only for Yugoslavia, but for Austria as well (Mehdi 1993). Countries such as Algeria and Libya, which in terms of technology could undoubtedly benefit more from Austria than they could from Yugoslavia, considered the former as a neutral, even “socialist,” European developed country, which, however, did not act in the manner of large industrialized countries, a quality that Austria itself liked to point out too (ka, VII.1, Algerien, Österreichischer Delegationsbesuch unter Staatssekretär DDr. Adolf Nussbaumer in Algier, Algiers, 9 March 1979). Its position on the legitimacy of a unilateral increase of oil prices in 1973, which Kreisky, much like Tito, would express to the international public, could not remain unnoticed either (ka, VII.6, Box 2, Arne Haselbach: A large-scale economic program). Austrian politicians and economists assured their Global South partners that actors from small industrialized countries approached development projects differently from large multinationals, which often dictated priorities to the developing countries (ka, VII.1, Indien, Box 1, Industrial small nations are different, The Hindustan Times, 2 December 1978). Austrian development aid documents stated that, in the conflictual relationship between cash and subsistence crops, local and regional self-sufficiency should be given precedence and be supported through both direct investment (irrigation, soil quality improvement) and indirect investment (education, health system, communication infrastructure, processing capacity; ka, VII.6, Box 6, Ansätze für ein Konzept verstärkter Österreichischer Entwicklungshilfeleistungen zugunsten von LLDC, Vienna, 16 March 1981, 10. Cf. Hveem 1989). Major Austrian engineering companies advertised that they cooperated closely with unido and other development agencies and adhered to all their standards (ka, VII.1, Algerien, Brochure Austroplan). Their leading managers would argue that a gradual adaptation of human resources in the developing countries to the technical and “sociocultural” requirements for work involving new technology was necessary as an integral part of the “inevitable process of global industrialisation” (Schwimann and Zich 1979). Typically, however, the

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projects of Austrian state conglomerates, such as Vöest, whose business plans intertwined with state foreign policy and which in the early 1980s realized half of its turnover in the markets of the Global South, were unadjusted to the natural and social environments of the developing countries, often displaying a practice that contradicted the companies’ declared principles (Pohl, Rüthemann, and Steiner 1986).

The Global South on the Doorstep? According to analysts at the Austrian Foreign Ministry, Yugoslavia identified itself as much as possible with the standpoints of the Third World, while Austria as an industrialized country represented a distinctive approach (Austrian State Archives, Vienna [OeStA], AdR, AAng, Pol/1979, Jugoslawien, 101.18.02). Yet their common understanding of the requirements of unctad already proves that, in the years of the greatest willingness for international economic reform, their perspectives were not that different. Their positions converged particularly in the late 1970s, when resistance to the reconstruction of the global economic system strengthened across major Western countries, and Yugoslavia grew increasingly moderate and realistic in its proposals (ka, VII.6, Box 6, Eleventh Special Session of the un General Assembly – Statement by Professor Dr. Adolf Nussbaumer, Minister of State at the Federal Chancellery, New York, 27 August 1980). The latter did express some reservations about the establishment of the Brandt Commission and later regarding some of its decisions (da msp, Box 223, 414642, 1980), with which Kreisky himself identified, but its criticism was directed more towards the issue of tactics. Yugoslavia certainly did not share the Soviet opinion that the efforts of European social democracy merely served to pave the way for capitalism to advance into the Global South (ka, VII.6, Box 11, W. Pankow, Sozial-Reformismus und internationale Wirtschaftbeziehungen, Vienna, 1980). The flexibility demonstrated by the two neighbours each within its own group (the oecd and g-77, respectively) and the mutual willingness to work even with antisystemic leaders of the Global South expanded the room for joint action. The contiguity of the two countries, however, and related unresolved bilateral issues (mostly revolving around the protection of the Slovenian minority in Carinthia and on the economic level the equally disturbing Yugoslav foreign trade deficit

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with Austria13), as well as the socialist system of Yugoslavia, unpalatable not just to the right wing of Austrian politics, proved to be an obstacle. Bruno Kreisky had a much livelier exchange of views on global reform with India’s prime minister, Indira Gandhi, than with Tito (OeStA, AdR, AAng, Pol/1978, uno, 502.16.08), although he could have found very similar answers in nearby Belgrade to those he found in faraway New Delhi. At the same time, Yugoslav diplomats would have regular consultations about the nieo with their Swedish and Norwegian colleagues, but not with Austrian ones (da msp, Box 177, 439511, Belgrade, 1975). Simultaneously using it as one of the main legitimizing levers of domestic policy, the Yugoslav side invested incomparably more knowledge and diplomatic effort in its non-aligned internationalism (Niebuhr 2018) than Austria did into its experiments with active neutrality, which constantly raised the question of what these meant for its fragile international position (Neuhold 1978, 132). It must have been the Yugoslav self-centred approach but also his disappointment over the disinterest of Yugoslav experts in the work of “his” Vienna Institute that made Bruno Kreisky remark: “The Yugoslavs are so convinced of their good relations with the entire world that they think they do not have to care much about keeping them up” (ka, III.8, Box 10, Minutes, 40). In fact, among the contributors to the prolific activity of this institute was, along with numerous scholarly authorities of the West and South, also the well-known Hungarian economist József Bognár (ka, III.8, Box 10, Protokoll, 56), and the institute’s director Arne Haselbach was invited to be guest lecturer at the University of Warsaw (ka, VII.6, Box 9, Einladung Universität Warschau, Vienna, 28 February 1976), while Yugoslav experts almost never came to Vienna. Despite the meagre results yielded by the joint production of knowledge on the topic of development, it was in cooperation with Austrian experts that a Workshop on European Economic Relations and the Developing Countries was organized in Dubrovnik in May 1980, where the challenges of tripartite economic cooperation between the socialist, capitalist, and developing countries were comprehensively addressed for the first time (Saunders 1981). In view of the strategic plan of expansion into the markets of the Global South and based on the complementarity of the capacity and ability as well as on similar aspirations of their economic policies, it would have been reasonable to expect that Austria and Yugoslavia would be the first to climb aboard the

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“transideological integrative globalization” train (Mark, Kalinovsky, and Marung 2020, 13), foreshadowed during the 1970s. In this period, when there was not much left of socialist internationalism even in the international business of companies from Eastern European socialist countries (cf. Calori et al. 2019; Trecker 2020), Yugoslav economic experts started shifting their gaze more and more towards politically and economically “more stable” middle-income countries, such as Argentina and Brazil, rather than to non-aligned primary producers, identifying an ideal in the multinational corporations of the former (such as Petrobras; Archives of the Republic of Slovenia [as], Ljubljana, as 1134, Box 9, f. 134, Strategija razvoja saradnje sa zemljama u razvoju do 1990. odnosno 2000. godine. IV. Jugoslovensko savetovanje o ekonomskoj saradnji sa zemljama u razvoju, Sarajevo, 3–5 October 1984). Yugoslav businessmen often boasted references, knowledge of the market, and wide networks of their representative offices around the Global South, all the while considering certain Austrian companies as technological leaders in their respective industries (da msp, Box 10, 411733, Belgrade, 1976). With regard to financing large projects, both countries relied on petrodollars, UN development agencies, and/or other international financial sources. Although concrete project proposals had been on the table during political talks at the highest level (da msp, Box 15, 454161, Vienna, 22 October 1979) and Chancellor Kreisky himself had proposed establishing a partnership to jointly appear in third markets (ibid.), by the early 1980s, when Yugoslavia was hit by an acute economic crisis, projects based on such intentions were few and far between.14 From then on, initiatives related to bilateral or wider European regional cooperation began to dominate the agendas of interstate political and economic talks, with Yugoslavia’s reorientation towards Europe and Austria’s willingness to assist the Yugoslavs to this end becoming increasingly evident (OeStA, AdR, AAng, Pol/1988, Jugoslawien, 101.18.08).

Conclusion The international positions of Austria and Yugoslavia at a time when no highlevel meeting passed without a mention of global economic reform, between the mid-1970s and the early 1980s, reflected a uniquely inverted picture. The two neighbours, each remaining in the ranks of their own “club,” nevertheless

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commanded a broader view and showed greater understanding towards a compromise view of reform than most of their respective allies. Austria acquired that thanks to its observer status in nam, and Yugoslavia through its associate status in the oecd (Marković and Obadić 2017). Moreover, both countries were visibly moving away from the intrinsic cores of their groups and adopting inclusive positions that brought them closer to a solid common denominator that would allow broader action at a time when the nieo’s fate was decided. This indisputably speaks in favour of recent scholarly arguments that the g-77 and nam’s endeavour to establish the nieo should be understood not as a revolt of the Third World, but rather as a plea for industrialized countries to recognize the changed nature of the global economy and act in their own “enlightened” self-interest (McFarland 2015). There is no doubt that a part of the Austrian political and economic elite, rooted in the domestic experience of neocorporatism, recognized it as such. To Yugoslav officials, resigned to the realization that international economic relations, unlike domestic society, could not be based on socialist self-management relations, except in the very long run, the nieo was in any case more proof of the possibility of active coexistence, through which they believed the whole world would move in the direction of “progressive” development. The differences between a socialist path and a social democratic, adapted-capitalist path to a universally understood notion of industrial and agricultural modernity had virtually faded away. As such, they no longer posed an obstacle for the potential joint engagement of the two countries in (more or less sincerely equitable) development projects; yet due to internal political and economic divergences in each of them, such projects only rarely materialized. Although the ideological frame of the Austrian social democratic and the Yugoslav socialist understanding of development and the global North-South dialogue was similar, their stakes in this great global game differed significantly. Yugoslavia, whose non-aligned foreign policy represented one of the basic integration factors of its own internal cohesion (Stubbs, this volume) and, outwardly, prestige, tied its own economic and political fates to the success of global reform and, proportionally, invested enormous energy in it. The level of knowledge production and the breadth of diplomatic action accompanying the “activation” of the Austrian policy of neutrality were not negligible either, but in Austria’s case there was always the reproach of the domestic polity that this was the ambition of only one part of the political spectrum

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or, even, of a single man at the top of the Social Democratic Party. Criticism regarding the links with the Global South, which in single-party Yugoslavia began appearing in the late 1980s (Jakovina, this volume), were present in Austria all the time, although they would usually not touch on the structural basis of the issue, rather stopping at the excesses of notorious leaders of the Global South. Post-Tito Yugoslav political elites most certainly wished to avoid such a reputation in their search for a North-South economic détente. Like Bruno Kreisky, who readily included foreign conservative leaders and influential bankers in his plans (Röhrlich 2009, 269), the Yugoslav “Mr. Non-Aligned,” Budimir Lončar, in his attempts to break through with the “deideologized non-alignment” approach that characterized the country’s foreign policy during the 1980s (Stubbs, this volume), did not shy away from chatting with the champions of US neoliberalism (Jakovina 2020, 325–39). Yugoslavia, largely due to its own problems linking it to the Global South (such as the debt crisis), persisted in its search for at least minimum global consensus on restructuring the world economy until the end of the 1980s; indeed, shortly before its disintegration, a desperate turn towards Western institutions stifled the longtime imaginaries of a different globalization (as, as 1140, Box 33, f. 674, Rezime savjetovanja o perspektivama razvoja saradnje sfrj sa zemljama u razvoju, Belgrade, 28 March 1991). Having been dealt a better hand for a new era of “supply-side economics,” the Austrian social democrats had parted from such longings, in their case, less long-lived or deep-rooted, a few years earlier; the Global South could now only be helped towards “adjustment with a human face” (Hödl 2004, 181).

notes 1 This work was supported by the Austrian Agency for International Cooperation in Education and Research (grant number icm-2019-14935) and the Slovenian Research Agency (research project J7-2606 and the research programme P6-0272). 2 The major premises of the nieo included: (1) various forms of international commodity agreements; (2) a common fund for commodity price stabilization; (3) nonreciprocal reduction in developed countries of barriers to the developing countries’ export of raw materials and manufactured goods; (4)

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Jure Ramšak expanded generalized trade preferences; and (5) financing of domestic adjustment assistance programs in the North that would facilitate imports from the South (Thomas 2001, 129). For further contextualization and discussion on the nieo, see Prashad (2014); Dinkel (2015); and the special issue of the journal Humanity 6, no. 1 (2015). For a nonconventional account of Austrian colonial attempts, see Sauer (2012). For an overview of differences and similarities between the international policies of neutral and non-aligned countries during the Cold War, see Kullaa (2012); Bott et al. (2016). See, for example, Nećak et al. (2004); Dragišić (2013); Ruzicic Kessler and Portmann (2014); Mueller, Greilinger, and Ruzicic Kessler (2018). Some starting points for the study of Austrian-Yugoslav relationships outside the neighbourly and regional contexts can be found in older literature on political science: Höll (1988). Concerning East-West relations see, in particular, Rathkolb, Maschke, and Lütgenau (2002); Suppan and Mueller (2009); Graf and Meisinger (2016); concerning North-North-South relations see, Hödl (2004); Röhrlich (2009); Molden (2015); Dreidemy (2020). More recent publications include: Jakovina (2011) and Bogetić (2019). In line with the new studies of the multifaceted relationships between the “Second” and “Third” worlds, the field expands with research on cultural history, leaving economic history on the sidelines (see Radonjić 2019). Despite clearly voiced concerns from the conservative pole of the Austrian political spectrum during the 1950s, the foreign policy steps, based on which Austria was establishing itself as a more visible player in global affairs and as a third regional headquarters of the un, were taken during the offices of övp foreign ministers Lujo Tončić Sorinj and Kurt Waldheim. However, the progressive image that allowed Austria to assume the position of an intermediate link between the capitalist centre and the decolonized periphery was most reinforced under the ministership of Bruno Kreisky (1959–1966; Hödl 2004, 68–84). At this point, we can draw an unmistakable parallel with the basic principle of Austrian corporatist capitalism; that is, the social partnership – a system that sought to overcome class struggle by establishing cooperation between labour, business, and agriculture. The macro-economic doctrine of Austro-

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Keynesianism, which even its founders stated had as much in common with Keynes as Austro-Marxism had with Marx (Seidel 1993, 145), became a crucial mechanism in the 1970s for maintaining full employment domestically – and an informative experience with policy implications at the international level as well. People from the Austrian business world even started promoting the Austrian experience among the developing countries, recommending the building of a mixed economy with state ownership of primary production, banking, and public services; cooperatives in the agricultural sector; and private initiatives in general production and services (Bruno Kreisky Archives, Vienna (ka), VII.6, Box 7, Otto Dracke: Studie zum Thema Investitionen und Kooperationen in Übersee – Industrielles Wachstum unter geänderten Umweltbedingungen und die wirtschaftliche Zukunft der Dritten Welt, Vienna, 1983). For the foundations of the West German development policy and its connection to its Ostpolitik, see Lorenzini (2009). While in the mid-1970s some of the most committed countries were already contributing close to 1 per cent of their budgetary expenditure to Official Development Assistance, Austria’s share in 1976 was a mere 0.12 per cent, the lowest within the oecd (OeStA, AdR, AAng, Pol/1978, fol. 408). In the mid-1970s, for example, it allowed 70 per cent of the imports to be treated under preferential trade arrangements (ka, VII.6, Box 6, Statement by Austrian Federal Minister for Trade, Commerce and Industry Mr. Josef Staribacher before the United Nations Conference of Trade and Development, Nairobi, 10 May 1976). However, despite all efforts, Yugoslavia’s exports into Austria never covered more than 60 per cent of the Yugoslav imports from its northern neighbour (OeStA, AdR, AAng, Pol/1987, Jugoslawien, 101.18.05). Examples of cooperation included the involvement of Yugoslav partners in the construction of the Misurata steel complex in Libya (ka, VII.1, Libyen, Box 1, Information: Österreichischer Außenhandel mit Libyen, Vienna, 9 March 1982) and of the pulp mill in Cameroon, the latter proving highly questionable from an ecological and social perspective (Pohl, Rüthemann, and Steiner 1986, 122; Rogl 1996). Similarly, cooperation between West German and Yugoslav companies in the markets of developing countries remained meagre as well (Kosanović 2009, 240).

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references Amin, Samir. 1984. “Self-Reliance and the New International Economic Order.” In Transforming the World-Economy? Nine Critical Essays on the New International Economic Order, edited by Herb Addo, 204–19. London: Hodder and Stoughton. as. The Archive of the Republic of Slovenia, Ljubljana, Slovenia. Various dates. Bielschowsky, Ricardo, and Antonio Carlos Macedo e Silva. 2016. “The unctad System of Political Economy.” In Handbook of Alternative Theories of Economic Development, edited by Erik S. Reinert, Jayati Ghosh, and Rainer Kattel, 291–304. Cheltenham and Northampton: Edward Elgar. Bockman, Johanna. 2015. “Socialist Globalization against Capitalist Neocolonialism: The Economic Ideas behind the New International Economic Order.” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 6 (1): 109–28. – 2020. “The Struggle over Structural Adjustment: Socialist Revolution versus Capitalist Counterrevolution in Yugoslavia and the World.” In Economic Knowledge in Socialism, 1945–89, edited by Ivan Boldyrev and Till Düppe, 253–78. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Bogetić, Dragan. 2019. Nesvrstanost kroz istoriju. Od ideje do pokreta. Belgrade: Zavod za udžbenike. Bott, Sandra, Jussi M. Hanhimaki, Janick Schaufelbuehl, and Marco Wyss, eds. 2016. Neutrality and Neutralism in the Cold War: Between or within the Blocs? London: Routledge. Calori, Anna, Anne-Kristin Hartmetz, Bence Kocsev, James Mark, and Jan Zofka, eds. 2019. Between East and South: Spaces of Interaction in the Globalizing Economy of the Cold War. Berlin: de Gruyter. Carré, Farlan. 1978. “General Remarks on the New International Economic Order (nieo).” In Neue Internationale Wirtschaftsordnung und Österreich, edited by Hanspeter Neuhold, 714. Vienna: Österreichische Gesellschaft für Außenpolitik und Internationale Beziehungen. Citino, Nathan J. 2014. “Modernization and Development.” In The Routledge Handbook of the Cold War, edited by Artemy M. Kalinovsky and Craig Daigle, 118–30. New York: Routledge. da msp. Diplomatic Archives of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Serbia, Belgrade. Various dates. Dinkel, Jurgen. 2015. Die Bewegung Bündnisfreier Staaten: Genese, Organisation und Politik 1927–1992. Berlin: de Gruyter.

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Dragišić, Petar. 2013. Odnosi Jugoslavije i Austrije 1945–1955. Belgrade: inis. Dreidemy, Lucille. 2020. “Reframing Hegemony: The NGOization of Development and Foreign Policy in the Cold War.” Paper presented at the Influence of Choice: Alternative Histories of Non-Hegemonic Foreign Policy in the Cold War Conference, London School of Economics (online), 3–4 December 2020. Fabinc, Ivo. 1979. “Ocena mednarodnih ekonomskih procesov.” In Nujnost preobrazbe mednarodnih ekonomskih odnosov, edited by Franček Brglez, 15–41. Ljubljana: Č zdo Komunist. Graf, Maximillian, and Agnes Meisinger, eds. 2016. Österreich im Kalten Krieg: neue Forschungen im internationalen Kontext. Göttingen: VandR unipress. Hödl, Gerald. 2004. Österreich und die Dritte Welt. Außen- und Entwicklungspolitik der Zweiten Republik bis zum eu-Beitritt 1995. Vienna: Promedia. Höll, Otmar, ed. 1988. Österreich – Jugoslawien: Determinanten und Perspektiven ihrer Beziehungen. Vienna: Braumüller. Hveem, Helge. 1989. “Norway. The Hesitant Reformer.” In Internationalism Under Strain: The North-South Policies of Canada, the Netherlands, Norway and Sweden, edited by Cranford Pratt, 104–54. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Treća strana hladnog rata. Zagreb: Fraktura. – 2020. Budimir Lončar: Od Preka do vrha svijeta. Zagreb: Fraktura. Jankowitsch, Peter. 2002. “Österreich Stellug bei den blocfreien Staaten.” In Mit anderen Augen gesehen: internationale Perzeptionen Österreichs 1955–1990, edited by Oliver Rathkolb, Otto M. Maschke, and Stefan August Lütgenau, 849–85. Vienna: Böhlau. ka. The Archives of Brno Kreisky, Vienna, Austria. Various dates. Kardelj, Edvard. 1979. Yugoslavia in International Relations and in the Non-Aligned Movement. Belgrade: Socialist Thought and Practice. Kosanović, Milan. 2009. “Brandt and Tito: Between Ostpolitik and Nonalignment.” In Ostpolitik 1969–1974: European and Global Responses, edited by Carole Fink and Bernd Schaefer, 232–43. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kramer-Fischer, Dorit. 1981. “Ein Neuer Marshall-Plan für die Dritte Welt.” Österreichische Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft 10:139–52. Kreisky, Bruno. 1981. Reden. Band II. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Staatsdruckerei. Kullaa, Rinna. 2012. Non-Alignment and Its Origins in Cold War Europe: Yugoslavia, Finland and the Soviet Challenge. London: I.B. Tauris. Lorenzini, Sara. 2009. “Globalising Ostpolitik.” Cold War History 9 (2): 223–42.

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Luif, Paul. 1981. Die Bewegung der blockfreien Staaten und Österreich. Laxenburg: öiip. Mark, James, Artemy M. Kalinovsky, and Steffi Marung. 2020. “Introduction.” In Alternative Globalizations: Eastern Europe and the Postcolonial World, edited by James Mark, Artemy M. Kalinovsky, and Steffi Marung, 1–31. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Marklund, Carl. 2020. “Double Loyalties? Small-State Solidarity and the Debates on New International Economic Order in Sweden during the Long 1970s.” Scandinavian Journal of History 45 (3): 384–406. Marković, Andrej, and Ivan Obadić. 2017. “A Socialist Developing Country in a Western Capitalist Club: Yugoslavia and the oecd/oecd, 1955–1980.” In The oecd and the International Political Economy Since 1948, edited by Matthieu Leimgruber and Matthias Schmelzer, 89–111. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mazower, Mark. 2012. Governing the World. The History of an Idea. London: Penguin. McFarland, Victor. 2015. “The New International Economic Order, Interdependence, and Globalization.” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 6 (1): 217–33. Mehdi, Fallah-Nodeh. 1993. Osterreich und die OPEC-Staaten, 1960–1990. Vienna: Jugend and Volk. Molden, Berthold. 2015. “Decolonizing the Second Republic. Austria and the Global South from the 1950s to the 1970s.” Journal of Austrian Studies 48 (3): 109–28. Mueller, Wolfgang. 2011. A Good Example of Peaceful Coexistence? The Soviet Union, Austria, and Neutrality 1955–1991. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Mueller, Wolfgang, Philipp Greilinger, and Karlo Ruzicic Kessler, eds. 2018. The Alps-Adriatic Region 1945–1955. International and Transnational Perspectives on a Conflicted European Region. Vienna: New Academic Press. Nećak, Dušan, Boris Jesih, Božo Repe, Ksenija Škrilec, and Peter Vodopivec, eds. 2004. Slovensko-avstrijski odnosi v 20. stoletju/Slowenisch-österreichische Beziehungen im 20. Jahrhundert. Ljubljana: Oddelek za zgodovino Filozofske fakultete. Neuhold, Hanspeter. 1978. Neue Internationale Wirtschaftsordnung und Österreich. Vienna: Österreichische Gesellschaft für Außenpolitik und Internationale Beziehungen.

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Niebuhr, Robert. 2018. The Search for a Cold War Legitimacy: Foreign Policy and Tito’s Yugoslavia. Leiden: Brill. OeStA. The Austrian State Archives, Vienna, Austria. Various dates. O’Sullivan, Kevin. 2015. “Between Internationalism and Empire: Ireland, the ‘LikeMinded’ Group, and the Search for a New International Order, 1974–82.” The International History Review 37 (5): 1083–101. Pirjevec, Jože, and Jure Ramšak, eds. 2014. Od Mašuna do New Yorka. 20. stoletje skozi pričevanja štirih slovenskih diplomatov. Koper: Univerzitetna založba Annales. Pohl, Walter, Guido Rüthemann, and Hans Steiner. 1986. Geschäfte mit der Etwicklung am Beispiel Österreich – Dritte Welt. Vienna: Südwind-Verlag. Prashad, Vijay. 2014. The Poorer Nations: A Possible History of the Global South. London: Verso. Pratt, Cranford, ed. 1990. Middle Power Internationalism: The North–South Dimension. Montreal: McGill Queen’s University Press. Preiswerk, Roy. 1984. “Hidden Dimensions of the So-Called New International Economic Order.” In Transforming the World-Economy? Nine Critical Essays on the New International Economic Order, edited by Herb Addo, 33–48. London: Hodder and Stoughton. Radonjić, Nemanja. 2019. “(Post)jugoslovenska istoriografija i ‘Treći svet’ sa posebnim osvrtom na područje Afrike.” In Reprezentacije socijalističke Jugoslavije: preispitivanja i perspektive, edited by Hannes Grandits, Vladimir Ivanović, and Branimir Janković, 83–107. Sarajevo and Zagreb: Udruženje za modernu historiju and Srednja Europa. Rathkolb, Oliver. 2015. “The Cancún Charade 1981: Lessons of History.” In Global Management, edited by Wolfram Hoppenstedt, Ronald W. Pruessen, and Oliver Rathkolb, 61–70. Vienna: Lit. Rathkolb, Oliver, Otto M. Maschke, and Stefan August Lütgenau, eds. 2002. Mit anderen Augen gesehen: internationale Perzeptionen Österreichs 1955–1990. Vienna: Böhlau. Rist, Gilbert. 2008. The History of Development: From Western Origins to Global Faith, 3rd ed. London: Zed Books. Rogl, Bernhard. 1996. “Österreichische Industrieanlagenexporte nach Afrika 1945– 1993.” Journal für Entwicklungspolitik 12 (2): 143–64. Röhrlich, Elisabeth. 2009. Kreiskys Außenpolitik: zwischen österreichischer Identität und internationalem Programm. Göttingen: V and R unipress.

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Rubinstein, Alvin. 1970. Yugoslavia and the Nonaligned World. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. Ruzicic Kessler, Karlo, and Michael Portmann. 2014. “Yugoslavia and Its Western Neighbours 1945–1980.” Zeitgeschichte 41 (5): 296–310. Sauer, Walter. 2012. “Habsburg Colonial: Austria-Hungary’s Role in European Overseas Expansion Reconsidered.” Austrian Studies 20:5–23. Saunders, Christopher, ed. 1981. East–West–South: Economic Interaction between Three Worlds. London: Macmillan. Schmidl, Erwin A. 2016. “Lukewarm Neutrality in a Cold War?: The Case of Austria.” Journal of Cold War Studies 18 (4): 36–50. Schwimann, H.G., and O.G. Zich. 1979. “The Partnership Spirit between Buyers and Sellers of Technology.” ifac Proceedings 12 (6): 175–80. Seidel, Hans. 1993. “Austro-Keynesianismus – revisited.” In Austro-Keynesianismus in Theorie und Praxis, edited by Fritz Weber and Theodor Venus, 145–9. Vienna: Jugend und Volk. Skuhra, Anselm. 1981. “Österreich im Nord-Süd-Konflikt während der siebziger Jahre – Reaktionen und Leistungen hinsichtlich der Forderungen der Entwicklungsländer.” Österreichische Zeitschrift für Politikwissenschaft 10:119–37. Spaskovska, Ljubica, and Ana Calori. 2021. “A Non-Aligned Business World: The Global Socialist Enterprise Between Self-Management and Transnational Capitalism.” Nationalities Papers 49 (3): 413–27. Stankovsky, Jan. 1990. “Economic Policy and Foreign Trade in Austria: Relations with West and East.” In The Challenge of Simultaneous Economic Relations with East and West, edited by Michael Marrese and Sandor Richter, 80–108. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Stubbs, Paul. 2019. “Socialist Yugoslavia, the Non-Aligned Movement and the United Nations: Continuities and Innovations in the Quest for Socio-Economic Justice.” Paper presented at the Fourth International Conference Socialism on the Bench, Pula, Croatia, 26–8 September 2019. Suppan, Arnold, and Wolfgang Mueller, eds. 2009. “Peaceful Coexistence” or “Iron Curtain”: Austria, Neutrality and Eastern Europe in the Cold War and Détente, 1955–1989. Vienna: Lit. Thomas, Darryl. 2001. The Theory and Practice of Third World Solidarity. Westport: Praeger. Trecker, Max. 2020. Red Money for the Global South. East–South Economic Relations in the Cold War. Abingdon and New York: Routledge.

10 “The Sun Never Sets on Energoprojekt … until It Does”: The Yugoslav Construction Industry in the Non-Aligned World Dubravka Sekulić

Introduction “Zambians all over the republic feel tremendous honour for their country to play host to such a gathering of so distinguished leaders. Lusaka citizens are particularly proud to be among the first in the world to have in their midst such a large number of world leaders under the same roof.”1 With these words, the first president of independent Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda, opened the third summit of non-aligned countries in Lusaka in September 1970. However, in order to greet sixty-two presidents and heads of state who gathered in Lusaka under one roof, the roof had to be constructed, and a great deal of other infrastructure was needed to host a meeting on such scale. Kaunda’s speech points to the connection between political independence and the infrastructure necessary for its realization. Symbolically, the most important project was the Mulungushi Hall, or the “Miracle in Lusaka,” as it was known and advertised by Energoprojekt, the Belgrade-based construction company who designed and built the complex. A New York Times feature in 1983 entitled “How a Yugoslav Company Built an International Market” places Mulungushi Hall at the centre of the story: “In 1972, Kenneth D. Kaunda, the President of Zambia, faced a crisis. He had called a conference of nonaligned nations for Lusaka, Zambia’s capital, and with just four months to go, there was no place for the delegates to meet. It could have been most

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embarrassing. But Mr. Kaunda telephoned officials of Energoprojekt, Yugoslavia’s biggest construction concern, and told them he needed a 4,000-seat convention hall – fast – with price no obstacle. And they came to the rescue” (Tagliabue 1983, 49). Apart from getting the year wrong, it communicated well how the construction of the hall had become an integral part of the myth the enterprise was building about itself and its “Golden Africa” phase. An earlier New York Times story on the eve of the conference in 1970 reported that “Zambia, which has a gross national product of about $1 billion and is hard-pressed for funds, is spending more than $14 million to build a hall and other facilities for a five day conference of the members of the so called Third world bloc” (New York Times 1970, 2). The text states that “contractors were given 17 weeks to build the hall, the houses for the heads of the delegations and a lot else – from scratch,” work that was “shouldered by” zecco (Zambia Engineering and Construction Company) and twenty subcontractors, including the Dutch electric company Philips,2 and “in return for substantial payments, some of them have accepted heavy penalty clauses on the completion date” (ibid.). The framing questions the necessity of the Non-Aligned Movement and the capacity of Zambia, or any developing country for that matter, to organize something on this scale. The construction of the hall was contracted in April 1970 (Petković 1970, 2) when the third summit of the non-aligned countries had already been scheduled to take place in Lusaka in early September of the same year. Zambia, who became a member in 1964 at the second summit in Cairo, the year it gained independence, was the perfect choice for the meeting that aimed to resolve “a crisis of continuity” for the Movement (Jakovina 2011; Dinkel 2019). Kaunda demonstrated that a new generation of African leaders still believed in the capacity and power of non-alignment. By 1970, Energoprojekt was no stranger to either the Non-Aligned Movement or Zambia. Founded in 1951, the construction enterprise considered itself synonymous with the Yugoslav economy abroad; most of its projects from the mid-1960s until the late-1980s were international, operating in over forty countries. Utilizing the knowledge and skills developed in the (re)construction of Yugoslavia after the Second World War, Energoprojekt offers a lens for understanding how exposure to markets abroad enhanced already existing affinities within the enterprise. Working mostly in non-aligned countries, Energoprojekt employed both the position of Yugoslavia and its ability

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to work across different systems and networks as well as its autonomy to negotiate credit independently, even from Western commercial banks. In May 1970, after the Mulungushi Conference Centre had already been contracted, during an official visit to Belgrade, Kaunda visited Energoprojekt’s modernist, international-style aspiring tower, built in 1960, together with Tito. This was followed by a visit to the hydropower plant Đerdap on the Danube, under construction by Energoprojekt. In 1968, the two presidents had visited the Kafue Gorge dam, one of the most important energy infrastructure projects undertaken in the early days of Zambia’s independence, being built with Yugoslav support after the World Bank had declined to invest in it (Scotto 2018). Energoprojekt was shaping the relationship between the two countries, over and above the personal relationship between Kaunda and Tito. Indeed, Yugoslavia created legislative frameworks for collaboration, such as joint ventures, only after the company had already implemented them in practice. Energoprojekt founded zecco in 1965, with the Zambian Government holding a 51 per cent stake. Energoprojekt founded several other joint ventures, notably unico, specializing in architectural design, as well as several subsidiaries, creating flexibility to wear different hats in front of different bodies while still maintaining high levels of control of the whole process of design and construction (Sekulić 2017). Reading the spatiality of conference centres in a sequence that starts in 1970 and ends in 1986 affords an insight into the transformation of the capacity of the politics of non-alignment to influence and change international economic relations. Energoprojekt, describing itself as “a factor of the implementation of the Yugoslav non-aligned foreign policy,” built conference centres in Kampala (1972) and Libreville (1977) to host meetings of the Organization of African Unity (oau) and the conference centre for the nam summit in Harare (1986). The foreign policies of newly independent postcolonial states could be performed in such settings. Conference centres were a practical materialization of the necessity of South-South cooperation. Optically, the organization of these centres shows how the anticolonial, anti-imperial, antiracist vision of non-alignment could not resist the pressures of economic dependency and global imaginaries, with Energoprojekt a friendly proxy for processes of neocolonial capture envisioning progress and democracy only in the image of the West.

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Infrastructure for the Global Public Sphere Choosing Lusaka for the crucial third summit of the Non-Aligned Movement was based on Kaunda’s political leadership, but Lusaka lacked the necessary infrastructure for an event of such scale, slated to be almost three times larger than the Belgrade summit of 1961. In addition to the conference hall, Energoprojekt’s task was also to design and construct the Mulungushi Village, a residential complex of villas to accommodate the sixty-two heads of delegations that had confirmed their participation. The village was situated in an enclosed space of thirty-five acres, one kilometre from the conference hall to which it was connected by one of many newly constructed roads. Each villa, occupying a total surface area of 350 square metres, was designed in what the architect Milenković described as “a combination of the laws of functionality with the laws of aesthetics, combining elements of the local African exoticism with those of the standard European culture” (Milenković 1970, 2, emphasis in original). A decade after the poet Oskar Davičo (1962) had searched for commonalities in West Africa, such references to “exoticism” were becoming increasingly common among engineers, architects, and other Yugoslav “experts.” Energoprojekt was embroiled in a contradictory position, seeking to maintain socialist solidarity in an increasingly capitalist context, creating a techno-managerial class. Those working abroad were moving in professional circles in the host countries in many of which, after initial attempts at building a more equitable postindependence society, a new class of “African accomplices inside the imperialist system” (Rodney 2018, 34) was appearing. The whiteness of Yugoslavs, while not the same whiteness of the colonizers, never ceased to be whiteness as long as they were operating according to capitalist relations and modes of production, increasingly dominating both their business operations and construction sites across the non-aligned world. Even after decolonization, the problem of the twentieth century continued to be the problem of the global colour line (Du Bois 2019, 3), especially after the sabotage of the New Economic International Order and the hegemony of the imf and the World Bank (Prashad 2007, 207–75). Milenković saw the conference centre as a “seed of future urbanity,” and his capacity, even with the tight deadline, to provide a permanent and not a temporary solution was what ultimately enabled them to win the contract and beat “the English.” Alongside the conference hall there was also a post office and four restaurants, along

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with the comprehensive technical support needed for the conference to become a media event. The complex also contained four smaller meeting rooms as well as three salons for heads of states and delegations. Evoking images of the Belgrade conference nine years earlier, the main hall is dominated by a huge roundtable, projecting equality and a horizontal dialogue. Energoprojekt signed the contract with the Zambian Government at the end of April 1970 and immediately dispatched a team to Lusaka. Led by Dušan Milenković, a senior architect and director of unico, Energoprojekt’s design office in Zambia, the team consisted of two architects and six architectural technicians who surveyed the site and drew up a preliminary concept in “seven days and seven nights” (Milenković 1970, 2). The pressure on all involved was immense since what was at stake was “not only the politics of Non-alignment at a particular historical moment, not only Energoprojekt, but Yugoslavia in general” (ibid.). While the works on Mulungushi Hall were progressing in three shifts, seven days a week, in order to meet deadlines, Yugoslav diplomats used the close relations between Tito and Kaunda at the time to take charge of all the preparatory work including drafting, in advance, the preliminary version of the concluding summit declaration. Hence, many of the discussions taking place in Lusaka were more perfunctory than aimed at aligning ideas, approaches, and decisions among the delegates. With such a limited input in the meeting itself, Tvrtko Jakovina (2017, 498) stressed that “the host country could always organize the auditorium.” In Lusaka, the organization of the auditorium became the key element around which the whole conference hall was designed, namely the large circular table enabling each of the sixty-two heads of delegation to have a space for themselves, with the delegates sitting in circles behind them. The table, inspired by that used in Belgrade, was meant to symbolize the horizontality that the Movement was trying to achieve and also ensure, in practical terms, that everyone could see everyone else throughout the conference. Tito sitting next to Kaunda, the chairperson, throughout the conference had been alphabetically, and not politically, determined. The historian Jürgen Dinkel (2019, 171) emphasized that non-aligned conferences “served not just as a forum for the discussion of global problems but also as an arena for the negotiation and symbolic (re)production of power relations within the non-aligned world.” While Yugoslavia ultimately won the competition against Cuba and Egypt to organize the first summit, when the second summit was organized in Cairo three years later, the main argument

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10.1 Lusaka 1970, collage by Dubravka Sekulić, 2021.

for choosing Cairo over Havana, beside the physical proximity of Cairo to the African countries, was its better developed hotel and meetings infrastructure (Jakovina 2017, 481). Cairo was the “safe” choice that would not upset either of the superpowers and, symbolically, giving preference to it over Cuba meant supporting the existing infrastructure instead of taking a leap into the revolutionary unknown. Tito and Nehru won over Castro, and Cairo’s hotel infrastructure was a convenient excuse.

Infrastructure for Non-Aligned Cooperation Energoprojekt went on to build more conference centres in other non-aligned African countries including Uganda, Gabon, and Zimbabwe. The urban myth in Belgrade goes that some of the countries that attended the conference in Belgrade approached Yugoslavia wishing for a replica of the federal govern-

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ment building in New Belgrade where some of the meetings had been held (Kulić 2015, xxi). This never happened, but one can say that New Belgrade, which was the largest construction site in Yugoslavia in 1961, as well as Energoprojekt’s own office tower, served as perfect advertisements for the capabilities of Yugoslav architects, engineers, and construction enterprises. Perhaps, the Non-Aligned Movement was at its most visible in the optimistic projects for conference centres built across the African continent, not only for nam meetings but also for meetings of the oau and other large international meetings. From today’s perspective, it is easy to read these projects as a form of misplaced optimism, as “white elephants” or expensive, vanity projects that wasted limited resources that could have been better spent on supporting processes of decolonization, but that would be an oversimplification. These projects are the most tangible materialization of the words and ideas that were often expressed and discussed during the summits, such as modernization, industrialization, and infrastructure and the belief that, with their existence, progress will surely follow. However, it is important to understand these requests from a different perspective: as a response to the lack of spatial infrastructure for the type of self-governance and diplomacy most of these countries had been denied while being ruled by colonial metropolises, and an awareness of the necessity for independent means of communication. This was best expressed by S. Rajaratnam, then minister of Foreign Affairs of Singapore, during the fourth Non-Aligned Movement summit in Algiers in 1973: Yesterday, Mr Chairman, for some reason, we had a technical breakdown. All the equipment that we are using – threatening the big powers, is provided by them. It broke down, and we could not communicate. We were all sitting here in this place, made and built by the great powers. Without that, we cannot hold this conference. We sent telegrams to our home countries. We had to send one to Singapore. It had to go to Paris, London, Singapore. They turn it off, we are lost.3 During his speech at the Lusaka conference, Tito stressed the importance of economic cooperation between developing countries, emphasizing that “it is certainly necessary to focus on our own strengths and maximize the development and utilization of all human and material potential. Further, it is necessary to further intensify the cooperation between the developing countries

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and to take full advantage of the economic integration and cooperation they provide” (quoted in Butorac and Petković 1979, 47). New diplomatic relations needed new physical spaces in which to unfold, and economic connections could be materialized in concrete, steel, and aluminum. For Energoprojekt, and the Yugoslav banks, the rationale for these projects was simple – they saw them as seeds that would allow them to enter new markets (Unkovski-Korica 2016). Socialist Yugoslavia, though existing for less than five decades, experienced a very dynamic internal development and established international relations such that one must be precise about the timeframe when drawing conclusions about Yugoslavia’s global role. In particular, the economic motivations behind some of the decisions and alliances Yugoslavia made were very different in the late 1950s, the mid-1960s, or the late 1970s. By 1986, when the eighth nam summit opened, Energoprojekt had just completed work in Harare and, though the rhetoric stayed the same, the motivation had changed. However, in the first half of the 1970s, it was still possible to see the projects of the conference centres and the initial involvement of Energoprojekt in Non-Aligned Movement countries as the practical implementation of one of the principles of nam, declared in point twelve of the Lusaka Declaration as “the struggle for economic independence and mutual cooperation on a basis of equality and mutual benefit” (Jankowitsch and Sauvant 1978, 83). Point eight of the same declaration accused “the forces of racism, apartheid, colonialism and imperialism,” of jeopardizing “the independence and territorial integrity of many countries, especially those of the Non-aligned and developing countries, thereby hampering their advancement, intensifying tension and giving rise to conflicts” (ibid., 82). After the Lusaka summit, Uganda’s President Milton Obote approached Energoprojekt to build a conference centre in Kampala. The centre was used as a successful “seed” project to enter the Ugandan market and, by 1975, Energoprojekt had also designed and built the Hotel Nile in conjunction with the centre, a terminal building at the airport in Entebbe, a few office buildings in Kampala, and a water treatment and supply system in Lira, as well as having prepared proposals for two more hotels and several office buildings.4 The project was supported by Energoprojekt’s entire operation and its joint ventures zecco and unico in Zambia. In January 1971, Idi Amin overthrew the government of Milton Obote in a military coup. Nevertheless, the project was

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successfully completed, and an opening celebration took place in June 1971 (Radenović 1971). However, due to the situation in Uganda, the meeting of the oau for which the conference centre had been designed took place in Addis Ababa, but the conference centre did host the oau meeting in 1975. The project description in Energoprojekt’s documentation reveals how the conference roundtable is still present as the key element in the design: “The main hall is designed so that 50 heads of state with their delegations (each 5 members) can sit at the roundtable.”5 The conference centre, whose investment value was $15 million, was larger than that in Lusaka, and designed for two thousand participants. Structurally, it adhered to the same organizational principle of a large main hall and three more smaller halls for two hundred people, a series of offices, and representative salons. The conference centre was fully equipped for broadcast and translation and air conditioned. Instead of villas, the complex in Kampala included a hotel that was connected to the conference centre by an enclosed walkway. The next summit of the Non-Aligned Movement, held in Algiers in 1973, again provided Energoprojekt with an opening to enter a new market. According to the documentation of the Yugoslav Federal Executive Government, Omar Bongo, the Gabonese president, approached Tito during the summit with a suggestion that the two countries should establish diplomatic relations. Part of their conversation included suggestions by Bongo that some Yugoslav enterprises build an international conference centre in Libreville.6 Following this first contact, Energoprojekt entered into negotiations with the Ministry of Public Works whose proxy was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Gabon. Additionally, Energoprojekt agreed to provide credit for 50 per cent of the project, the estimated cost of which was $15–17 million, in advance. After the arrangement was made between Gabon and Energoprojekt, Bongo addressed Tito with a further request that Yugoslavia also fund part of the project as a form of public assistance. Jakša Petrić, a deputy of the federal secretary in the Secretariat for International Affairs of sfry, recommended that the Yugoslav Federal Government should accept Bongo’s proposal even though “as far as they know, until now, our country has never supported the construction of such projects as a form of public assistance” because “these are the initial actions in a cooperation between the two countries and successful implementation of this project could open up further perspectives for our enterprises

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in this country” (Archives of Yugoslavia [aj], Belgrade, Serbia, Fund F-455). They were proved right, as the conference hall, completed in July 1976, six months ahead of schedule (Energoprojekt 1976), led to Energoprojekt being directly commissioned to design and build two further buildings, the Banquet and Performance Halls, in the complex that later became known as la Cité de la Démocratie (City of Democracy). Furthermore, in June 1975, the Energoprojekt newspaper reported that an agreement had been reached between Energoprojekt and Gabon for the design and construction of a hydropower dam, thus confirming the mantra its architects would often repeat to highlight their relevance in the domain of bringing new commissions to the whole enterprise: “where designers come, contractors will come.”7 The first major event in the finished complex was the fifteenth conference of the oau in July 1977. The total value of the three projects was almost $50 million when completed.8The same year, Energoprojekt founded ufk, an enterprise for forest exploitation, after winning a state concession for exploitation of some 350,000 hectares.9 In the 1980s, Energoprojekt was involved with two more projects for nonaligned summits: a conference centre and a hotel in Harare, Zimbabwe, where the eighth summit took place, and the Hyatt hotel in Belgrade, which housed some of the participants of the ninth summit three years later in 1989. By this time, all of the founders of the Movement were dead and democracy as one of the key principles of the Non-Aligned Movement had withered away as a possibility in many member countries no longer united in the struggle for independence but in the pressures of crippling debt and their international creditors. The debt was also haunting Yugoslavia (Woodward 1986, 1995). The long-running negotiations for the commission of the first project in Zimbabwe, a conference centre and a hotel, started in April 1981 after Energoprojekt first took the initiative and contacted the deputy minister of Information and Tourism of the Government of Zimbabwe to offer him an alternative project to that which had, in 1980, been prepared by the British design office Palmer and Brussow. After overthrowing the apartheid regime of Ian Smith in 1980 and renaming the country Zimbabwe, and the main city Harare, the Zimbabwean government, led by Robert Mugabe organized, in March 1981, the Zimbabwe Conference on Reconstruction and Development (zimcord), where thirty-one national and twenty-six international agencies pledged $1.45 billion in international aid, with the US pledging $225 million

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to be distributed by usaid. The funding pledged was for a period of three years to support the transition from a white- to a Black-led government in Zimbabwe (Dougherty 1981). Energoprojekt, which at that time had a long-established presence and joint companies in Zambia and Botswana, sent its delegation to follow the conference, including an architect Dragoljub Bakić. During the conference, Bakić found out about the plans of the Zimbabwean government for a conference centre and a hotel and managed to negotiate with Victoria Chitepo, the minister of Information and Education and later the minister of National Resources and Tourism, a two-month window during which Energoprojekt would draw up a competing architectural proposal (Bakić 2012, 166–8). Furthermore, Bakić used the commemoration of the death of the chairman of the Presidency of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia, Stevan Doronjski, at the Yugoslav embassy in Harare, as an opportunity to showcase the model of the project to the minister of Foreign Affairs of Zimbabwe who had come to the embassy to pay his respects (Dragoljub Bakić and Ljiljana Bakić, interview with author, 17 January 2015). The conference centre and hotel were completed in July 1985 and officially opened in November 1985 by Robert Mugabe. When the complex opened, Tihomir Nenadić, director of Energoprojekt’s construction department saw the project as the perfect example of how “the politics of aggressive acquisition” had to be adopted by the company, especially in new markets such as Zimbabwe (Jakovljević 1985). In January 1982, Energoprojekt won the construction contract based on the Bakićs’ design in a bidding competition with two other international construction companies, French Sofitel with a local design office Clinton and an Italian company De La Vera. The contract was signed on 22 November 1982, with an initial deadline of twenty-four months as Harare was hoping to host one of the annual summits of the oau. Coordination between design and construction was achieved by forming a team of designers in Harare where both Bakićs relocated, setting up a design office that remained active until the end of the 1980s.10 What most determined the approach to design and construction was the tight deadline and fear of inflation (in the Yugoslav, Zimbabwean, and other markets) and its potential impact on Energoprojekt’s narrow profit margin, since the contract did not have a sliding scale clause. A reduced Yugoslav workforce was planned for the construction site to reduce

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costs. This was possible because the country had a relatively advanced local construction industry with a labour force skilled in more complex work, developed out of necessity during the seventeen years of international isolation when the country had been independent from the uk but ruled by the apartheid racist regime of white former colonists, mostly of English descent.11 However, it was crucial that the team of architects was there to coordinate the whole process. The Workers Council of the Construction Department had to accept all the proposals for how the construction work was to be organized – this included authorizing the opening of a new work unit, deciding on the way the salaries for those working abroad would be calculated, approving working in two nine-hour shifts, as well as issuing a permit to invest in the acquisition of additional machinery on top of that which Energoprojekt already owned and which had been pulled in from construction sites in Belgrade, Peru, Kuwait, Botswana, and Iraq (Energoprojekt 1982, 3). According to Lazo Žakula, the president of Energoprojekt’s Advisory Board, there were two main reasons why this project received an extraordinary amount of attention from the board. The primary reason was the tight deadline given to finalize a complex project, something that had been characteristic of Energoprojekt in the 1970s but, when this project was starting, the enterprise was already plagued by a two-year delay in the construction of its own building in Belgrade and doubted if it still had the capacity to pull off “miracles” like those from the previous decade. However, the more important reason was the crisis, the contraction of profits, and the increasingly difficult position of Energoprojekt, and especially its design divisions, in the international market. This was made more complex when the Yugoslav dinar was devalued in the early 1980s within the imf Structural Adjustment Program to curb the Yugoslav debt. Energoprojekt and the other Yugoslav companies that were sub-contractors were hoping that the hotel and conference centre in Harare would open new markets and mark the beginning of the second “golden African decade,” despite the fact that the scheduling and profitability of the project were “borderline.”12 In 1982, the year the project was contracted, chief architect Dragoljub Bakić stressed the importance of Zimbabwe for the whole enterprise and especially for the Architecture and Urbanism Department, which had been singled out, at the end of 1981, as the most potentially problematic segment of Energoprojekt. In an interview for the Energoprojekt newspaper, after the contract for the project was finally signed and the project

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started, in late 1982, Bakić was frank about the importance of the project, especially for the Architecture and Urbanism division: In a moment when we have already seriously started to feel the consequences of a drastic restriction of investments in the domestic market, this project in Zimbabwe opens the possibility for us to get through the approaching period and even procure new commissions. Our plans for Zimbabwe’s market don’t stop with this job. We are already in advanced discussions about several other projects, which are opening prospects for founding a permanent design subsidiary in Harare. That is both our wish and goal. (Bakić 1982) This goal was reached; Energoprojekt did open a subsidiary and worked actively in the country until the mid-1990s, designing and constructing a wide range of public buildings and infrastructural objects. In January 1989, Robert Mugabe visited the Belgrade offices of Energoprojekt during an official visit to Yugoslavia and described the position of the enterprise in his country in terms that resonated with those used by the president of Zambia, Kenneth Kaunda, when he had visited the company almost twenty years earlier (Jakovljević 1989). At the time, Energoprojekt was completing the headquarters for the main political party in the country, Mugabe’s Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front (zanu-pf), a fifteen-storey postmodern tower designed by local architects Peter Martin and Tony WalesSmith and influenced by Philip Johnson’s 1984 AT&T building on Madison Avenue in New York.

Infrastructures and the Quest for Non-Aligned Architectures The 2017 three-channel digital video installation Two Meetings and a Funeral by artist Naeem Mohaiemen, in which he links the politics of independent Bangladesh with its participation in non-aligned summits, brings Indian historian Vijay Prashad to the Salle omnisports la Coupole d’Alger, designed by Oscar Niemeyer (Oddy 2019), in which the 1973 summit took place. Prashad comments while walking around the empty space searching for anticolonialism in the building’s architecture:

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You know, they produced these giant buildings. They are so hard to maintain. They look shabby perhaps days after they finished constructing it. How are you supposed to maintain something so enormous? … it is ok to build it, it gives you a sense of pride, but it is not maintainable. You have populations in poverty, and then there is this huge thing. It is impossible to clean the glass, it is impossible to maintain it from leaks. I am optimistic about the project, but I am not optimistic about this kind of artistic expression in the middle of the project. Somehow it doesn’t seem correct. Huge amounts of scarce resources are put into this and then, as I say, it’s hard to maintain it … Although to tell you the truth, I can’t see many motifs of anticolonialism here. Where is the anticolonial motif, where are the people?13 If we look at the conference centres Energoprojekt built in Africa, is it possible to see in them anticolonialism or, at least, non-alignment? If we focus only on the one in Harare, its design and the spatial disposition of the interior reveals more about the ideological shifts between the 1970s and 1980s and the changing approach to various projects abroad than its golden clad exterior. This conference hall represents a radical break with the approach developed by Energoprojekt in the previous decade. The roundtable as the key organizing design element for the main conference hall, and the principle of horizontality, were abandoned. The hall, rectangular in its base, was organized vertically, with two steep juxtaposed seating galleries on the longer sides, modelled as an arena. The architects used the uk Parliament as a reference, as it, for them, represented the spirit of democracy they wanted to capture. The irony of using such a reference in a former British colony escaped the authors who, at that moment, had already developed a critique of the Yugoslav system and, most importantly, self-management, which they saw as a burdensome process that allowed nonexperts to interfere and slow down their projects and, most significantly, hindered them from playing a role in a society they thought was theirs by right – that of the bourgeois architect they saw in the capitalist West.14 The two strongest factors in shaping the auditorium as a new arena for democracy in Zimbabwe were a fascination with Western capitalist democracy and a belief in competition. What was at play was a colonization of the imagination by a Western imaginary translated into architecture. In practice, the auditorium was too large, and most of the participants were reduced to being passive

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10.2 Harare 1986, collage by Dubravka Sekulić, 1986.

observers. While, in the moment of initial design, Zimbabwe wanted to host an oau meeting and not a non-aligned summit, it seems that for Energoprojekt’s architects, both non-alignment and anticolonialism became pure rhetorical devices, forgotten as principles. Both summits in Lusaka and Harare were important in the history of the Movement because they were concerned with the future of the Third World and tried to articulate demands for a more equitable world. At the same time, the World Bank and other development banks were quick to start supporting various infrastructural projects in African countries that were in the process of liberating themselves. Many loans came with conditions requiring the selection of projects or construction companies from specific countries, but for a while, there was enough work for construction companies from all parts of the world, who would compete against each other but also work side by side on the same construction sites (Stanek 2020a, 2020b). And even when both the political and economic power of Yugoslavia was slowly diminishing during the 1970s, Energoprojekt was among the most successful enterprises, especially when one considers the size of the Yugoslav economy, and in the 1980 annual

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survey of the Engineering News Record it was ranked as sixth in the field of consulting and twentieth in that of turnkey contracts.15 As Paul Stubbs (2019) notes, there was “no singular, stable, socio-economic imaginary within Non-aligned Movement,” but there was a broad consensus that Non-Aligned Movement countries individually and through mutual collaboration and support can achieve “rapid economic and social development” (Kardelj 1975, 12). The Non-Aligned Movement followed the un and the zeitgeist development approach in which industrialization was the cornerstone of development and growth, “a kind of monological project of modernity” (Escobar 1994 quoted in Stubbs 2019). This is the context in which all projects, not only conference centres, need to be read, including the role of Energoprojekt. In this quest for development, infrastructure, in an expanded sense, played an important role. By the late 1970s and especially in the 1980s, it became obvious that the postindependence infrastructure boom of the 1960s and 1970s did not bring to many non-aligned countries the bright and prosperous future of more developed societies, but a future that was arrested by debt. According to Prashad (2007, 224–44), the Third World as a project, and with it the emancipatory potential of the Non-Aligned Movement, was assassinated in Kingston by imf-led globalization. The summit in Zimbabwe was not a funeral but the night of the living debt, packaged in a hypertrophied uk Parliament. The main achievement of the 1986 Non-Aligned Movement summit was the creation of the South Commission following the initiative of Mahathir Mohamed, prime minister of Malaysia. The commission, chaired by the former president of Tanzania Julius Nyerere, was to develop a “serious study of the political and economic problems of the nam states and some pointers for action” (ibid., 276). The report, released in 1990, “argued that the adjustment strategies of imf-led globalization weakened the Third World as a political force” (ibid., 277). The tentative answer to the question if there were non-aligned architectures is “no,” but a new non-alignment is needed more than ever. Both the Movement and modern architecture as an extension of industrialist modernization were obstacles and not vehicles for non-aligned architectures to emerge, as they led to integration into the hegemonic global system and not its transformation. However, an architecture of non-alignment as an architecture of coliberation must be possible and is needed more than ever. Based not on the

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concepts of modernization and bracketing of difference but derived from working with and across difference, it is possible to rethink development, but this time as “‘small d’ development” (Bhandar, Ziadah, and Wilson Gilmore 2020, 167), which Ruth Wilson Gilmore builds through the concept of “blues epistemologies” (Woods and Gilmore 2017).

Conclusions: Spectres of Debt The Non-Aligned Movement, together with similar initiatives such as the g77 and unctad, ceased to be a political force and the demise of all three left no one to “champion a debt abolition of relief strategy for the planet” (Prashad 2007, 277). Yugoslavia shared the faith with its non-aligned peers of the debtarrested future, and the 1980s in the country were also marked by Structural Adjustment Programs and imf-imposed austerity measures, which Johanna Bockman (2019) has termed “capitalist counterrevolution.” Timothy Mitchell (2020) stressed how “infrastructures work on time, but not only in the ways we commonly assume. While they may increase the speed at which goods are transported, people travel, or energy flows, this acceleration of time is not their most important attribute. Their physical scale, technical durability, and political strength give them another purpose. They introduce an interruption, a gap, out of which the present extracts wealth from the future.” In other words, infrastructures produce debt. For decades, it was unthinkable that the focus on infrastructure investment was what was bringing all the countries into a neocolonial position of servitude because of debt. As a tentative conclusion, and an invitation for new scholarship, perhaps it is possible to think about debt16 not as foreclosure, but as an opening for the future. Denise Ferreira da Silva (2017, 87) reminds us that “global capital lives off the total value expropriated from slave labour and native lands.” She articulates the concept of “unpayable debt” as “an obligation that one owns but is not one’s to pay” and an operative figure that “recalls expropriation, the mode of extraction of profit characteristic of the modern colony, which is the moment of the juridical-economic matrix of capital that performs the appropriation of total value required for capital creation through the deployment of total violence” (88). Harney and Moten (2013, 61) insist that, unlike credit, debt is social and mutual. According to them, “debt can be abandoned

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for bad debt. It can be forgotten for bad debt, but it cannot be forgiven” (63). Their concept of bad debt is close to Ferreira da Silva’s unpayable debt – it is a conceptualization of debt that refuses to be reintegrated into the circuits of global capital flows. The bad and unpayable debt acknowledges that its origin lies in colonial dispossession and refuses to be forgiven. For Harney and Moten “there will be a [debt] jubilee when the Global South does not get credit for discounted contributions to the world civilization and commerce but keeps its debts, changes them only for the debts of others, a swap among those who never intend to pay, who will never be allowed to pay, in a bar in Penang, in Port of Spain, in Bandung, where your credit is no good” (63). Infrastructures produced in non-alignment can offer some guidance on how the oppressed, the underdogs, the damned, can come together and articulate their position in the world, across difference, in resistance to both local and global ruling elites, in which debt forgetting and not forgiving can be one of the triggers for anti(neo)colonial solidarity. The Non-Aligned Movement can be seen as the conservative side of the anticolonial struggle, providing solidarity for decolonizing nations to gain sovereignty but taming and integrating them into capitalist globalization. Ultimately, the vehicle of liberation also became the vehicle of integration into an indefensible system (Césaire 2001, 32) precisely because of a belief in the possibility of an international public sphere to be constituted on principles of equality by bracketing off differences (Fraser 1990) rather than insisting on coliberation based on thinking in terms of difference. The Non-Aligned Movement and its materialization through the work of Energoprojekt point to both the possibility and the necessity to think about internationalism and solidarity and about parameters not set by capitalist or socialist developmental agendas of progress predicated upon continuous growth. If the Non-Aligned Movement teaches us anything, it is that while its existence together with other progressive ideas such as Pan Africanism, the Tricontinental, or the Third World did not prevent neocolonial enclosure, this does not mean that recolonization as such was inevitable. Ultimately, anticolonialism serves as a constant reminder that “there is nothing undoable, as hard as undoing it would be” (Bhandar, Ziadah, and Wilson Gilmore 2020, 176). Studying Energoprojekt enables us to understand that it matters how things are done. The experience of South-South collaboration was not enough to raise a different type of consciousness and, with it, a different type of imag-

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inary. “What the world will become already exists in fragments and pieces, experiments and possibilities” (Lambert and Wilson Gilmore 2019, 14), and while flawed, there are many lessons to be learned from Energoprojekt and its being in the non-aligned world.17

notes 1 Transcript from archival recording Synd 10-9-70 Non-Aligned Summit Opened by Kenneth Kaunda, 1970, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kOw HnCdN4ws, accessed 20 April 2021. 2 The nyt article stresses how “Philips is said to have given priority to the Zambian contract over all others” and that it even recalled workers from holidays to meet the deadlines. Philips continued to be zecco’s subcontractor on the project for the findeco tower. 3 Quoted in Two Meetings and a Funeral, a three-channel video installation by Naeem Mohaiemen 2017. 4 Information sourced from various Energoprojekt documents. 5 Energoprojekt (Published as a Special Insert for the Architectural Journal Arhitektura Urbanizam), unpaginated. 6 During the visit to the offices of Energoprojekt in 1975, Bongo stressed that it was Tito who recommended Energoprojekt to him in Algiers. See Radenović (1975). 7 Quoted here from an interview with Dušan Milenković but formulated first by Milica Šterić, the head of the Architecture and Urbanism Department of Energoprojekt from its founding in 1951 until 1976, and often repeated by architects I interviewed during my research. Jakovljević and Milenković (1979). 8 Conference Hall was roughly twenty-five million, Banquet 10.5 million, and Performance Hall 10.7 million usd (see Jakovljević 1977). 9 Energoprojekt 1951–81 publication, unpaginated. 10 Both Bakićs returned to Harare in 1993 to further develop the office of Energoprojekt there, which had fewer and fewer commissions. By that time, the world seemed completely different from the one of ten years before. What remained under the name of Yugoslavia (Serbia and Montenegro) was under un economic sanctions because of the wars they were waging against other parts of the former country, which had been expelled from the nam. For Energoprojekt, the projects in Zimbabwe offered potential relief from the pressure

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Dubravka Sekulić on the business caused by the sanctions. To be able to bid for both design and construction projects and not to appear twice as the same company, Bakić, with the initial support from Energoprojekt, registered Bakić Architects in 1993. They would stay and work in Zimbabwe until 1999 and design a series of large projects, including the complex for the un’s blue helmets division, which they completed (see Bakić and Maskareli 2004; Bakić 2012). In her text about the project, Ljiljana Bakić (2012, 60) states that “the ruling white elite, responsible for the majority of architectural and construction projects, designed its life like in a film Gone with the Wind.” Lazo Žakula, member of the Business Committee on Energoprojekt’s Work Division for Construction and a president of its Workers Council (Jakovljević 1983). Quoted from the Two Meetings and a Funeral, three-channel digital video installation by Naeem Mohaiemen, 2017. In an interview with an author day April 2016; see also Bakić and Maskareli (2004). Engineering News Record. 17 July 1980, 45–8. I am grateful to Johanna Bockman for pushing me to think beyond debt as foreclosure and to think of it as an opportunity. I am indebted to Rina Priyani and Kanishka Prasad for conversations we had while I was writing this chapter and to Paul Stubbs without whose patience and editorial support this chapter would have stayed a draft.

references aj. Archives of Yugoslavia, Belgrade, Serbia, Fund: Fond za kreditiranje i osiguranje izvoznih poslova, F-455, Folio: Gabon. Bakić, Dragoljub. 1982. “Izvođaču ćemo omogućiti kontinuirani rad (We Will Enable Continuous Work of a Contractor).” Energoprojekt, 19 November 1982. Bakić, Ljiljana. 2012. Anatomija B & B Arhitekture (An Anatomy of B&B Architecture). Belgrade: Publikum. Bakić, Ljiljana, and Draginja Maskareli. 2004. “‘Nepriznatost’ arhitekture je delo samih arhitekata, intervju sa Ljiljanom Bakić (‘A Non-Recognition’ of Architecture Is the Doing of Architects Themselves, Interview with Ljiljana Bakić.)” Arhitektura, February. Bhandar, Brenna, Rafeef Ziadah, and Ruth Wilson Gilmore. 2020. “Abolition

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Feminism – Ruth Wilson Gilmore.” In Revolutionary Feminisms: Conversations on Collective Action and Radical Thought, 161–78. London: Verso. Bockman, Johana. 2019. “The Struggle over Structural Adjustment: Socialist Revolution versus Capitalist Counterrevolution in Yugoslavia and the World.” History of Political Economy 51 (1): 253–76. Butorac, Tomislav, and Ranko Petković, eds. 1979. “Govori Predsednika sfrj Josipa Broza Tita na konferencijama šefova država ili vlada Nesvrstanih zemalja (Speeches by Josip Broz Tito, President of sfry, at the Conferences of Presidents of Governments of Nonaligned Countries).” In Nesvrstanost u Suvremenom Svijetu (Nonalignment in the Contemporary World), 1–89. Zagreb: Vjesnik. Césaire, Aimé. 2001. Discourse on Colonialism. New York: Monthly Review Press. Davičo, Oskar. 1962. Crno na belo (Black on White). Beograd: Prosveta. Dinkel, Jürgen. 2019. The Non-Aligned Movement: Genesis, Organization and Politics. Leiden: Brill. Dougherty, Edward A. 1981. “Zimcord Conference Documentation.” Issue: A Journal of Opinion 11 (3/4): 51–3. Du Bois, W.E.B. (1903) 2019. The Souls of Black Folk. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Energoprojekt. 1976. “Završena zgrada za konferencije u Libervilu – šest meseci pre roka (Conference Centre in Libreville Completed – Six Months Ahead of Schedule),” July 1976. – 1982. “Počelo je odbrojavanje,” 3 December 1982. Escobar, Arturo. 1994. Encountering Development: The Making and Unmaking of the Third World. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. Ferreira da Silva, Denise. 2017. “Unpayable Debt: Reading Scenes of Value against the Arrow of Time.” In The Documenta 14 Reader, edited by Documenta, Quinn Latimer, and Adam Szymczyk, 84–112. Munich: Prestel Verlag. Fraser, Nancy. 1990. “Rethinking the Public Sphere: A Contribution to the Critique of Actually Existing Democracy.” Social Text 25/26: 56–80. Harney, Stefano, and Fred Moten. 2013. The Undercommons: Fugitive Planning and Black Study. Wivenhoe: Minor Compositions. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Tre a strana hladnog rata (The Third Side of the Cold War). Zagreb: Fraktura. – 2017. “Yugoslavia on the International Scene: The Active Coexistence of NonAligned Yugoslavia.” In Yugoslavia from a Historical Perspective, 461–514. Belgrade: Helsinški odbor za ljudska prava u Srbiji.

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Jakovljević, D. 1977. “Brza gradnja – gotovi problemi (Fast Construction – Finished Problems).” Energoprojekt, July 1977. – 1983. “rs traži precizniju organizacionu šemu (Worker’s Council Asks for the More Precise Scheme).” Energoprojekt, 28 January 1983. – 1985. “Premijer Mugabe otvorio Šeraton (Prime Minister Mugabe Opened Sheraton).” Energoprojekt, 6 December 1985. – 1989. “Energoprojekt poželjan poslovni partner – poseta predsednika Zimbabvea Roberta Mugabea (Energoprojekt Desirable Business Partner – Visit of the President of Zimbabwe Robert Mugabe).” Energoprojekt, 3 February 1989. Jakovljević D., and Dušan Milenković. 1979. “Razgovor sa Dušanom Milenkovićem, direktorom ooura za urbanizam i arhitekturu: Inostranstvo – generalna orjentacija 1979. (Interview with Dušan Milenković, Director of oour for Urbanism and Architecture: The General Orientation for 1979 – Markets Abroad)” Energoprojekt, 4 January 1979. Jankowitsch, Odette, and Karl P. Sauvant. 1978. The Third World without Superpowers: The Collected Documents of the Non-Aligned Countries. Vol. 1. Dobbs Ferry, ny: Oceana Publications. Kardelj, Edvard. 1975. Istorijski koreni nesvrstavanja (The Historical Roots of NonAlignment). Beograd: Komunist. Kulić, Vladimir. 2015. Building Babylon: Architecture, Hospitality, and the NonAligned Globalization. Non-Aligned Modernisms. Vol. 2. Belgrade: Museum of Contemporary Art Belgrade. Lambert, Leopold, and Ruth Wilson Gilmore. 2019. “Making Abolition Geography in Southern California – Interview with Ruth Wilson Gilmore.” The Funambulist 21: 14–19. Milenković, Dušan. 1970. “Uspešno obavljen posao (Job Well Done).” Energoprojekt, October 1970. Mitchell, Timothy. 2020. “Infrastructures Work on Time.” E-Flux Architecture, New Silk Roads, January 2020. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/new-silk-roads/ 312596/infrastructures-work-on-time/. New York Times. 1970. “Zambia Is Spending $14 Million for a 5 Day Conference,” 21 August 1970. https://www.nytimes.com/1970/08/21/archives/zambia-is-spending14million-for-a-5day-conference.html. Oddy, Jason. 2019. Revolution Will Be Stopped Halfway: Oscar Niemeyer in Algeria. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Petković, Dragan. 1970. “Naša najdraža i najznačajnija poseta – Predsednici Tito i Kaunda posetili su našu organizaciju (The Favourite and Most Significant Visit – Presidents Tito and Kaunda Visited Our Organization).” Energoprojekt, May 1970. Prashad, Vijay. 2007. The Darker Nations: A People’s History of the Third World. New York: New Press. Radenović, Jezdimir. 1971. “Završen veliki posao u Istočnoj Africi – Konferencijski centar u Kampali, Uganda (A Major Job Completed in East Africa – Conference Centre in Kampala, Uganda).” Energoprojekt, May 1971. – 1975. “U ponedeljak, 7. aprila, predsednik Gabona Bongo posetio Energoprojekt (On Monday, 7 April, Gabon President Bongo Visited Energoprojekt).” Energoprojekt, April 1975. Rodney, Walter. 2018. How Europe Underdeveloped Africa. London: Verso. Scotto, Giulia. 2018. “Colonial and Postcolonial Logistics.” footprint 8: 69–86. Sekulić, Dubravka. 2017. “Energoprojekt in Nigeria: Yugoslav Construction Companies in the Developing World.” Southeastern Europe 41 (2): 200–29. Stanek, Łukasz. 2020a. Architecture in Global Socialism: Eastern Europe, West Africa, and the Middle East in the Cold War. Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press. – 2020b. “Gift, Credit, Barter: Architectural Mobilities in Global Socialism.” E-Flux Architecture, Housing, July 2020. https://www.e-flux.com/architecture/housing/ 337850/gift-credit-barter-architectural-mobilities-in-global-socialism/. Stubbs, Paul. 2019. “Socialist Yugoslavia and the Antinomies of the Non-Aligned Movement.” Lefteast, 17 June 2019. http://www.criticatac.ro/lefteast/yugoslaviaantinomies-non-aligned-movement/. Tagliabue, John. 1983. “How a Yugoslav Company Built an International Market.” New York Times, 28 March 1983. https://www.nytimes.com/1983/03/28/business/ how-a-yugoslav-company-built-an-international-market.html. Woods, Clyde, and Ruth Wilson Gilmore. 2017. Development Arrested: The Blues and Plantation Power in the Mississippi Delta. 2nd ed. London: Verso. Woodward, Susan L. 1986. “Orthodoxy and Solidarity: Competing Claims and International Adjustment in Yugoslavia.” International Organization 40 (2): 505–45. Unkovski-Korica, Vladimir. 2016. The Economic Struggle for Power in Tito’s Yugoslavia: From World War II to Non-Alignment. London: I.B. Tauris.

part four

New Multilateralisms

11 From Santiago to Mexico: The Yugoslav Mission in Latin America during the Cold War and the Limits of Non-Alignment Agustin Cosovschi

Introduction In the 1950s, after its expulsion from the Cominform and on a quest to expand its network of allies beyond the European world, socialist Yugoslavia started developing systematic efforts to build connections with the Latin American left. In a political and ideological context shaped by the rise of the spirit of Bandung and with the aim to increase its influence in Latin America, Belgrade increased its efforts in the region and succeeded in securing influential allies in places like Chile, Bolivia, and Mexico, but also more generally to disseminate Yugoslav ideas of self-management and non-alignment and to significantly increase its trade with the region. However, when the moment came for Yugoslavia to organize a show of strength to demonstrate its influence in world politics, Latin American countries in general proved to be hard to recruit. The Belgrade conference of 1961 that formally established the Non-Aligned Movement (nam) only had Cuba as a member state, with Ecuador, Bolivia, and Brazil sending observers to the meeting. In the aftermath of the Cuban revolution, and in a context shaped by the rise of anti-imperialist and revolutionary ideas from Mexico to Chile, the weak presence of Latin Americans in the summit was disappointing to many. Yet, all things considered, the fact that Latin Americans did not commit to the Belgrade conference was not only predictable but revealing. What is more, their absence from the summit points to the need to examine further the

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difficulties of adopting non-alignment in a continent under heavy American influence and, more generally, the need to assess critically the achievements and shortcomings of Yugoslavia’s strategy in the Third World. In this chapter, I develop a reflection on the limitations of Yugoslav nonalignment by focusing on a region that has generally remained outside the scope of much of the extant literature on nam. Yugoslavia’s activities in Latin America have remained by and large overlooked by authors working on Yugoslav foreign policy, and they have also been widely disregarded by authors working on the Cold War in Latin America. These have, for the most part, focused on the influence of the United States in the region, analyzing, to some extent, the part played by the ussr and rarely touching on connections with other East European socialist nations, with the Third World, or more recently with nam (Rabe 2012; Calandra and Franco 2012; Pettinà 2016, 2018; Rupprecht 2015; Zourek 2014; Field 2018; Field, Krepp, and Pettinà 2020). My analysis focuses on the period that is often labelled the “early Cold War,” roughly covering the years since the late-1940s until the mid-1960s. First, I offer a brief critical consideration of the existing literature on Yugoslav foreign policy in the Third World and some comments about the difficulties of adopting non-alignment in the particular context of Latin America. Furthermore, I draw on my own research on the relations between socialist Yugoslavia and Latin American left-wing movements and parties and provide an overview of Yugoslav policy in Latin America during the 1950s and up to the early 1960s. In doing so, I underline the systematic character of Belgrade’s efforts, but I also show the challenges Yugoslavia had to grapple with in the region. In line with previous works, I claim that Belgrade’s apprehension to develop a more assertive policy in the Third World was initially advantageous, but that Yugoslav refusal to adopt more militant positions actually became a liability from the late 1950s onwards, when the Cold War took an increasingly radicalized turn in Latin America due to heavy US pressure and the effects of the Cuban revolution (Cosovschi 2021). Last, to shed further light on the intricacies of non-alignment as a policy for Latin America, I examine the case of revolutionary Bolivia and Victor Paz Estenssoro’s failure to maintain an autonomous position in the context of the Cold War.

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Non-Alignment and Its Shortcomings: A Brief Review of the Literature In recent years, historiography about nam and Yugoslav foreign policy has developed apace, and authors have expanded our knowledge of the period to a considerable extent, examining not only the diplomatic aspects of the Movement in different geographies of the Global South, but also analyzing many of its expressions in labour and cultural history (Mišković 2014; Jakovina 2011; Dimić 2014; Rajak 2014; Mark et al. 2015; Vučetić 2019; Spaskovska 2018; Turajlić 2021). In accordance with dominant trends in global and transnational historiography, many of these works have attempted to identify uncharted or largely unexplored episodes of Yugoslav intervention in the Third World, thus seeking to decentre Cold War narratives and underline the agency of nonhegemonic actors. Moreover, authors have repeatedly tended to underline the unconditionality of Yugoslav support and its differences from United States or Soviet forms of aid, often tied to the adoption of political and ideological stances. As a result, many of these works have focused on stressing the unique, and often extraordinary, character of Yugoslav foreign policy but often without offering a critical inquiry into its shortcomings on the ground. By way of example, Jovan Čavoški’s (2019) work on Belgrade’s actions in the context of the Angolan Liberation War provides unequivocal evidence of the importance of Yugoslav help to the mpla and its unorthodox character, certainly valued by Agostinho Neto in his attempts to assert the independence of his leadership. However, the author confines his analysis to the period before the beginning of the Angolan Civil war itself and thus abstains from reflecting further on the reasons Yugoslavia’s key role during the 1960s was rapidly eclipsed, from the mid-1970s onwards, not only by the Soviet Union, but also by Cuba, when the conflict turned from a war of decolonization into an open Cold War confrontation. In contrast, Natalija Dimić’s (2018) work on the subject constitutes an exception, as it offers interesting hints for an examination of the limitations of Yugoslav policy in the Third World. Among other things, the author claims that the Yugoslav approach was “neither sufficiently systematic nor institutionally organized” and also that “that Yugoslavia’s economic capacities could not meet the requirements of its foreign policy” (15). Perhaps even more importantly, Dimić underlines that Yugoslav influence was, in general, less socially and culturally pervasive than forces

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coming from other geographies of the communist world, a deficiency that also curtailed Belgrade’s power. As she argues, “The Yugoslavs assessed that the ussr, Cuba, and other East European countries were present in all aspects of the newly liberated Angolan society, whereas Yugoslavia managed to build ties only with Angolan leadership, rather than with the middle ranking officials and the Angolan population. This resulted in the fact that after Agostinho Neto and Josip Broz Tito died, in 1979 and 1980 respectively, the most fruitful phase of Yugoslav-Angolan cooperation slowly came to an end” (23). Thus, Dimić gives us hints to reflect critically on the limitations of Yugoslav policy in the Third World and points to the deficiencies of Belgrade’s strategy on the ground. In doing so, the author also sheds light on the often elitecentred character of non-alignment as a political and cultural phenomenon, which has also been underlined by cultural historians such as Doknić (2013). As I have claimed elsewhere, this is a problem that many studies have been unable to address due to the traditional top-down approach that predominates in the literature, as authors have generally tended to analyze nonalignment through the lens of big diplomatic summits, often also underlining the importance of Tito’s charismatic brand of personal diplomacy and his relationship with a handful of Third World leaders (Cosovschi 2021). In the particular case of Latin America, the limitations of non-alignment are clear from the recent literature. For the most part, these studies deal with official diplomatic sources and focus primarily on state-to-state relations, which makes their approach to non-alignment rather partial, tending to underestimate the intellectual and cultural importance of non-alignment for the Latin American left and also failing to focus sufficiently on networks of actors who promoted non-alignment from beyond the sphere of the state. Yet, the very fact that the Belgrade conference of 1961 only had Cuba as a member state, with Ecuador, Bolivia, and Brazil merely sending observers, is a clear sign of the difficulties of promoting non-alignment in the region. Certainly, the considerable increase in Latin American attendance in the Cairo conference of 1964 constituted a positive sign for nam’s influence on the continent, but the changing tides of Latin American politics meant that many of the governments that pushed for participation in Cairo were soon gone and, in many cases, were replaced by strongly anticommunist administrations. In a classic piece about Brazil’s approach to nam in the early 1960s, James Hershberg (2007) has shown some of the reasons behind the Latin American

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absence from the Belgrade conference. Drawing primarily on American and Brazilian sources, he shows the direct pressure exerted by the United States and their distaste for “neutralism,” but he also sheds light on the hesitations of the Brazilians themselves, who “had varying and complex feelings about the degree to which an ‘independent’ foreign policy could or should permit sympathy toward or affiliation with ‘neutralism’ or ‘non-alignment’ in the Cold War given Rio’s historic relationship with the United States” (374). Moreover, Vanni Pettinà (2016) has shown a similar phenomenon in the case of Mexico, although the author approaches these tensions within a more positive frame. Analyzing Adolfo López Mateos’ heretical foreign policy from 1958 to 1964, especially his defence of revolutionary Cuba’s right to self-determination and his flirtations with nam, Pettinà claims that the Mexican government saw transcontinental relations with the non-aligned world as a way to increase its margins for manoeuvre in the American context, ultimately using the Belgrade conference as a gambit to improve his position in the framework of negotiations with the US government for financial aid. Pettinà interprets these moves as “an example of successful adaptation in the face of the difficult constraints of the cold war in Latin America” (760) and clearly shows that nonalignment could be a useful instrument for Latin American leaders. In view of Mexico’s decision not to attend the summit, however, one might say that this interpretation is also relatively benevolent, as the author somehow avoids the conclusion that, in the end, it was almost impossible for López Mateos to emancipate his country from Washington’s pressures. Certainly, Latin America has geopolitical particularities that make its experience with non-alignment unique. At the same time, many of these dynamics are also revealing of the larger story of nam and the Third World as alternative political projects during the Cold War. As Mark Atwood Lawrence has rightly claimed, after having inspired a potent global movement in the 1950 and early 1960s, “the nonaligned states had to cope with an international atmosphere increasingly hostile to their project” (McMahon 2013, 149). This ideological polarization was brought to Latin America by the aftershocks of the Cuban revolution, but similar echoes reached other geographies of the Global South following the Sino-Soviet split and the Vietnam War. In other words, the radicalization of the Cold War in the 1960s ensured that nam would increasingly face internal tensions and pressures to abandon its discursive equidistance from the two blocs or that it would simply face the increasing

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risk of becoming morally inspiring, but politically inconsequential, in the increasingly militarized confrontations that took place in the peripheries of the bipolar world. In the following sections, drawing from my own research and from the secondary literature, I discuss the development of Yugoslav policy and the limitations of non-alignment in Latin America during the early Cold War until the mid-1960s. I stress that, in spite of the widespread prestige of Yugoslav socialism and the popularity of Tito as a global leader, the radicalization of the Latin American Cold War during the 1960s following the Cuban revolution made it increasingly hard for Belgrade to promote its rather light brand of non-alignment in the region, and that it also made it increasingly hard for Belgrade’s local allies to uphold such equidistant positions vis-à-vis the dominant blocs.

The Yugoslav Mission in Latin America in the Early Cold War During the first years of the post–Second World War period, Yugoslavia’s relations with Latin America were of little significance. Yugoslav activity was somewhat more significant in the Southern Cone than in other parts of the region due to the significant presence of Yugoslav immigrants and the existence of strong trading relations with Argentina. Otherwise, the Yugoslav regime’s knowledge about the Latin American context was rather limited, and geographical distance made it hard to develop links with the region. However, this situation took a different turn in the early 1950s when Yugoslavia found itself in need of support beyond the Eastern bloc as a result of its expulsion from the Cominform in 1948; as attested by documents of the time, the need to find new allies in the non-European world pushed the leadership in Belgrade towards a greater interest in the Latin American political landscape. At the time, Belgrade started to explore the possibility of developing cooperation with social democratic parties in the region, but it also became particularly interested in the phenomenon of Peronism and its impressive sway over Argentinian workers (aj, Archives of Yugoslavia, “Stilinoviću,” aj 507, “Argentina,” IX, 4/4, 11 May 1951). Nevertheless, due to the strongly authoritarian character of Peron’s administration, the significant US pressure in the

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country, the strength of the communists under Moscow’s lead, and the fragility of the local socialist party, Argentina offered numerous obstacles to Yugoslav activities (aj, “Untitled,” aj 507, “Argentina,” IX, 4/11, 1 October 1951,). This was even the case despite the presence in Argentina of a large Yugoslav diaspora, especially because anticommunist political émigrés generally held the upper hand in the activities of the local community and the pro-Yugoslav diaspora proved to be politically unskilled on many occasions (Simić 2021). However, if the Argentine political landscape did not offer great possibilities in that regard, circumstances on the other side of the Andes were entirely different. In neighbouring Chile, a large group derived from a split within the Chilean socialists approached the Yugoslav representatives in the early 1950s with the intention to develop closer relations with Belgrade. In many ways, the Popular Socialist Party (psp, Partido Socialista Popular) constituted an ideal partner for the Yugoslavs. The product of a year-long political construction dating back to the times of the ephemerous Chilean Socialist Republic of 1932, this party had a history of active institutional participation through the Popular Front governments of the 1930s and a good electoral record. However, with the conservative turn of the 1940s in Chile, the party had lost much of its drive and its support in the ballots and had also become riven with internal divisions. The socialists had even lost their official denomination to a lesser right-wing fraction that decided to support President Gabriel Gonzalez Videla’s anticommunist laws in 1948 and now had to operate under the name of the psp. Now, under the leadership of the younger and more radical Raúl Ampuero, the party had entered a process of ideological radicalization that distanced it from the communists and their strategy of building coalitions with bourgeois forces. As stated by Paul Drake (1992, 264), “during Ampuero’s reconstruction [of the party], socialists were restlessly seeking for a model between the Radicals and the Communists, between the United States and the Soviet Union.” Thus, when the time was ripe for Belgrade to explore Latin America, the Chileans’ ideological quest for an alternative between Moscow and Washington would become the basis for a strong partnership. The first contacts between the Yugoslavs and the Chileans were made at the Yugoslav delegation in Santiago in 1951, mostly at the Chileans’ initiative. Ampuero approached the Yugoslav embassy and expressed admiration for the Yugoslavs “in their defence of their country’s independence” and said the

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Chileans’ wish to “become better acquainted with the theoretical and practical work of the Communist Party of Yugoslavia (cpy)” (aj, aj 507, “Chile,” IX, 21/III-1, 27 August 1951). The Yugoslavs took this as a very promising sign and saw cooperation with the psp as an entry not only to Chile, but to the whole region (aj, aj 507, “Chile,” IX, 21/III-3, 5 June 1953). Yet, in a country under heavy US influence, which had been witness to strict anticommunist legislation some years before and had even expelled Yugoslav diplomats accused of fostering revolts among the workers in 1947, the Yugoslav strategy had to be very subtle. Hence, it was decided that formal ties should be established between the psp and the Socialist Alliance of the Working People of Yugoslavia (ssrnj), an umbrella organization of the Yugoslav communist regime that grouped sociopolitical organizations in the country, but which was also responsible for establishing links with progressive forces abroad. During the following years, and especially through the action of the ssrnj, relations between the Chilean Socialist Party and the Yugoslav regime would develop to an impressive extent, involving frequent correspondence between leading Chilean socialists, such as Raúl Ampuero, Aniceto Rodrıguez, and party intellectual Oscar Waiss, and chief representatives of the ssrnj, such as Svetozar Vukmanović-Tempo and Veljko Vlahović, and leading to numerous reciprocal visits between Chile and Yugoslavia. On the Chilean side, the impact of these exchanges was considerable, and the Yugoslav experience would become a model for the psp in its search for a national and anti-imperialist path to socialism that broke free of Soviet guidelines (Fernández 2017). The connection would also be of key importance for the Yugoslavs as it paved the way for them to enter into a region that had, until then, remained rather unknown and inaccessible. When Veljko Vlahović came to Latin America in 1954 with the aim to further develop connections with the Chileans and visit other potential allies in Brazil, Argentina, and Uruguay, not only was he impressed by the Chileans’ discipline and by the manifold ideological agreements that they had with Belgrade, but he also came back from his trip with firsthand knowledge of the South American context and was more convinced than ever that it was necessary to establish a closer, more intense, and more personal connection to Latin American partners to better understand the local context and to extend Yugoslav influence in the region (aj, “Zabeleška sa sastanka Komisije za međunarodne veze ssrnj na kome je drug Veljko Vla-

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hović podneo izveštaj sa svog puta po Latinskoj Americi,” aj 507, “Chile,” IX 2/III-13, 1–4, 1955).1 These successful initial contacts encouraged Belgrade to multiply its efforts in Latin America and to devote ever more systematic energies to their search for allies in the region. Throughout the remainder of the 1950s, Belgrade increased its efforts by inviting Latin American delegations to Yugoslavia, placing Yugoslav articles in the Latin American press, extending relations with local workers’ movements and trades’ unions, and more generally, further developing knowledge about the international workers’ movement in Latin America. In addition, the 1950s also witnessed a significant rise in visits by Latin American left-wing leaders and intellectuals to Yugoslav soil, mainly channelled through the ssrnj. During those years, the Yugoslav regime hosted, among others, General Secretary of the Brazilian Socialist Party Domingos Velasco as well as the Uruguayan socialist intellectual Carlos Rama. Among the many Latin American visitors that came to Yugoslavia in those years, the Chileans again stood out: the visit by Senator Aniceto Rodrıguez and party intellectual Oscar Waiss in 1955 would be one of the most important episodes in the history of these connections, and the story was ultimately described in Waiss’s book Amanecer en Belgrado, published in 1956 by Prensa Latinoamericana, the psp’s press (which also printed theoretical works by Yugoslav thinkers such as Edvard Kardelj and Boris Ziherl and was often supported financially by the Yugoslavs).2 By the end of the 1950s, the ssnrj’s activities in Latin America were seen by Belgrade as a key achievement of its foreign policy (Vlahović 1981). Further visits to Latin America, such as the mission of goodwill headed by Vladimir Popović and a regional tour by a trade union delegation headed by Svetozar Vukmanović-Tempo, allowed Yugoslavia to develop relations with several progressive movements in Costa Rica, Cuba, Brazil, Chile, Perú, Colombia, Bolivia, and Mexico to better understand the political, economic, and social landscape of the region and to further expand trade with several countries (Čehovin 1960; Yugoslav Survey 1970). By the early 1960s, and in the context of growing Yugoslav contacts with the Third World, Belgrade’s activity in Latin America had attained unprecedented levels, and the Yugoslavs could see for themselves that Tito’s popularity was on the rise among local leftwing parties, that Yugoslav socialism enjoyed a strongly positive image on the

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continent and that their non-aligned approach to international politics had a growing influence among progressive movements in places like Bolivia, Cuba, Brazil, and Mexico.

The Roar from Sierra Maestra and the Intricacies of Non-Alignment in America’s Backyard Yugoslav efforts in Latin America were more than fruitful during the 1950s and this convinced the Yugoslavs of the need to keep investing time and energy in the region, especially since anticolonial feelings and progressive politics were on the rise (aj, Commission for International Relations of the ck skj and the so ssrnj, aj 142, Fund 37, 3 October 1959). Yugoslav activity in the region was clearly expanding, as underscored by a cia report from 1960 that included Latin America among Yugoslavia’s spheres of interest. The document underlined that, contrary to the main leaders of the two power blocs, the Yugoslavs had a special appeal on the basis of their support for anticolonialism, neutrality, and their defence of freedom from outside interference. “This gives them an edge over their counterparts from the Sino-Soviet bloc,” it stated.3 However, this edge, based on the ideological affinities of many Latin Americans with the Yugoslav model, on the particular position of Yugoslavia in the confrontation between the East and the West and on the sway of Tito’s charisma, began to recede by the 1960s under the strain of a radicalized regional and global context. The early 1960s would bring new challenges to Belgrade’s activities on the continent, and some evidence suggests that Yugoslavia would not always decide to fully commit to the needs of its allies in the region. What is more, the Yugoslav policy of active neutrality and the subsequent elaboration of the ideas of non-alignment would not always prove to be suitable for the complexities of the Latin American context. A major challenge came from the increasing rivalry with other socialist powers, especially following the Cuban revolution in January 1959. By the early 1960s, Latin America had started to induce greater interest in the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia (Rupprecht 2015; Zourek 2014). The Yugoslavs started to notice this in their visits to Latin America, and it triggered growing concerns among some of the leaders of the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (Savez komunista Jugoslavije skj) and the ssnrj: for instance, Svetozar

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Vukmanović-Tempo underlined that, besides the growing influence of Fidel Castro, whose popularity was on the rise throughout Latin America, there was a systematic campaign against Yugoslavia carried out by the Russians and their allies, the Czechoslovaks. And they were not the only ones, he added, for Chinese influence was particularly noteworthy: not only were Latin Americans increasingly interested in Chinese socialism, but Beijing was also investing more and more money to invite Latin Americans to China. “The Chinese,” claimed Tempo, “want to lead a policy for the world” (aj, Commission for International Relations of the ck skj and the s0 ssrnj, aj 142, Fund 37, 42, 3 October 1959). Tempo’s warning was more than warranted, not least because Belgrade still showed considerable reticence to increase its financial efforts and to get fully involved on the continent. A revealing episode took place in 1958 when the Chilean Socialist Party, through its General Secretary Salomón Corbalán, asked Belgrade for financial help. Having recently reunited with all dissenting factions and having made common alliance with the communists and other smaller parties in the Front of Popular Action (frap, Frente de Accion Popular) under Salvador Allende’s leadership, Chilean socialists now represented the second strongest political force in Chile and one of the most popular left-wing forces in Latin America. During the last leg of the 1958 presidential campaign, Corbalán approached the Yugoslav delegation in Santiago and explained that Allende would probably win the elections, but that their resources were running out. He asked for $50,000 to finance the campaign. According to sources, the Yugoslavs declined to provide these funds and apologized, claiming that “such things were contrary to the principles and methods of work of the ssnrj” (aj 507, “Chile,” IX, 21/II-20). Given the fact that the request came from Yugoslavia’s main partner in Latin America, this episode is particularly revealing of the reluctance of Belgrade to commit fully to the development of a political base in Latin America. It is also worth stressing that Yugoslavia’s decision not to support its allies might have actually made a difference; Allende ended up losing that election by only 2.8 per cent of the popular vote. In the face of growing competition from the Soviets, the Czechoslovaks, and the Chinese, Belgrade would have to choose between either remaining a secondary power in the region or fully committing to promoting its ideas and influence in the region. Yet, evidence suggests that the main challenge to

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Yugoslav policy in Latin America did not come from Moscow, Prague, or Beijing, but rather from La Habana. The Cuban revolution would constitute a major turning point in the history of the continent, and it would also pose significant challenges to Belgrade’s activities in Latin American and in the Third World more generally. The Yugoslavs became aware of the problems coming from La Habana soon after the Cuban revolution. Connections with the Movimiento 26 de Julio were established rapidly and fruitfully, a Yugoslav mission of goodwill came to the island in August 1959, and a Yugoslav embassy was opened hurriedly in December 1959. However, certain signs of distrust came to light already in 1960, when Ernesto Che Guevara expressed doubts about the hybrid nature of Yugoslav socialism and when Fidel Castro failed to agree to a meeting with Tito in New York at the United Nations General Assembly. Moreover, the following years would have the Cuban press increasingly accusing Yugoslavia of adopting revisionist positions, and many of these tensions would also have an impact on the development of nam as the Cubans attempted to imprint the Movement from the very beginning with a militant anti-imperialist position that did not suit Yugoslav interests and plans (aj, “Material o Kubi,” aj 507, “Cuba,” IX, 67 / 41, n.d.). As claimed by former Yugoslav ambassador in La Habana Živojin Jazić (2010, 142), Yugoslavia and Cuba would thus engage for many years in a sort of “boxing in the dark.” The conflict with Cuba was probably more complex than the Yugoslavs often conceived: Belgrade would frequently see the Cubans as simply a “prolager” force inside nam (Jakovina 2011), failing thus to understand that La Habana’s active involvement in the Cold War, including its training of militias on the island and its direct military support to anti-imperialist forces in the Third World, was probably the only alternative that the revolutionary government found after realizing that Moscow’s support was far from unreserved, as became clear when Khrushchev decided to withdraw the missiles from the country in 1962 without consulting Castro (Gleijeses 2002). Moreover, the difficulties for Yugoslav activities in Latin America would not only be the result of frequent diplomatic conflicts with the Cubans but also of a general transformation in the perceptions of the Latin American left in view of the manifold difficulties of the Cuban revolutionary government due to increasing US pressures and escalating anticommunism. After 1959, Washington would increase its political and economic pressures in the region, not only attempting to exclude revolutionary Cuba from the institutions of

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the Inter-American system but also encouraging vast sectors of the Latin American military to take a stand in national politics with the aim of avoiding the expansion of revolutionary nodes on the continent. As a result, many of Yugoslavia’s local allies would start seeing non-alignment, at least as it was projected by Belgrade in its rather herbivore version, as an unviable position for Latin America. This would become clear in 1961 during a tour around Latin America by Mika Špiljak, then a member of the executive committee of the ssrnj and the central committee of the party, as well as vice-president of the Federation of Trade Unions of Yugoslavia. According to reports from that visit, some of Belgrade’s partners claimed to have a very restricted margin for action when it came to resisting the bipolar logics of the Cold War. Young socialists in Uruguay such as Roberto Copelmayer and Reinaldo Gargano, and many Chileans including Salvador Allende himself, underlined that, even though they were in principle contrary to bloc divisions and felt close to the values of the Belgrade conference, in case of eventually arriving to power, they would be forced to rely on the ussr to counterbalance American pressures, as had happened in Cuba. “Latin American countries are American property,” said the Uruguayans, “and the only true help is Soviet help” (Jazić 2010, 38). A particularly revealing example of the difficulties of adopting non-alignment in the Latin American context comes from revolutionary Bolivia. After having gone through a popular revolution led by the nationalist Movimiento Nacionalista Revolutionario (mnr) in 1952, Bolivia entered an era of radical transformations under the leadership of Victor Paz Estenssoro, including the nationalization of tin mines and extensive agrarian reforms (Lavaud 1998). These changes rendered the country increasingly attractive for Yugoslav activities in the region, and Bolivia would come closer to Yugoslavia both politically and economically in the following years. Furthermore, during the administration of Hernán Silez Suazo from 1956 onwards, due to increasing economic problems, among other reasons, Bolivia would adopt a more conservative approach, following the line promoted by the right wing of the Movimiento Nacionalista Revolutionario and attempting to bring in more help from the US. However, when Paz Estenssoro came back to power in 1960, the context for a moment seemed to allow for a return to the sources, and even for an increased margin of autonomy in matters of foreign policy. Much like Adolfo López Mateos in Mexico, Jânio Quadros in Brazil, and Arturo

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Frondizi in Argentina, Paz would openly defend revolutionary Cuba’s right to self-determination, develop closer economic relations with the socialist East, and express significant agreements with the non-aligned Third World. Bolivia’s non-aligned ambitions also translated into closer relations with socialist Yugoslavia. As stated by Thomas Field (2020), Paz nurtured close ties to Belgrade and was personally eager to become something of an Andean Tito. Among other things, Bolivia was one of the first Latin American signatories of a cultural convention with Yugoslavia, and by the mid-1960s, for instance, Bolivia would be the Latin American country that benefited most from Yugoslav scholarships (aj, “Kulturna saradnja sa zemljama Latinske Amerike,” aj 559, Fasc. 4–8, 20 November 1961). Moreover, Paz would himself express his admiration for “the neutralist line of Yugoslavia and African and Asian nations” during a visit to Yugoslavia in 1959 (aj, “Zabeleška o Victor Paz Estenssoro, bivsi Predsednik Bolivija,” aj 142, Fund 42, 125, 1959), Bolivia would send an observer to the Belgrade conference of 1961, and Tito would include the Andean nation in the selected group of countries that he visited during his 1963 tour of Latin America. However, Paz’s experiment with non-alignment would fail miserably. As shown by Field (2018; Field, Krepp, and Pettinà 2020), Paz’s constant playing between the left wing and the right wing of the ruling coalition, and his attempt to navigate between East and West, would finally collapse under the pressure of a radicalized context. The deepening of social conflict in Bolivia in the early 1960s, the dire economic needs of the country that imposed the need for American funding for infrastructure and for military expenditure, and the strong pressure coming from Washington to break relations with countries such as Cuba and Czechoslovakia would make it impossible to preserve the delicate balance that a true non-aligned policy demanded. Paz’s moves became ever more difficult from 1963 onwards, and the Bolivian president would finally find himself crushed by both sides of his movement, eventually forsaken both by the Cubans and the Americans, weakened and eventually overthrown by a military coup d’état led by René Barrientos in 1964. Paz’s experience was not unique. In Argentina, Arturo Frondizi had been overthrown by a military intervention in 1962 for having opened the door to the return of Peronism and for having also upheld the principles of national self-determination for Cuba, having even met with Che Guevara in 1961. In

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Brazil, João Goulart, Jânio Quadros’s successor, would suffer the same fate in 1964 after having attempted to introduce an agrarian reform and deeper regulation for foreign capital. Finally, in 1965, after two years of confrontations following the 1963 coup d’état against centre-left Dominican president Juan Bosch, the United States would invade Santo Domingo in a show of strength to the whole continent. The ambition of developing an autonomous foreign policy, one that could keep a certain balance between the East and the West and that could bring Latin Americans closer to Belgrade and to nam, would rapidly vanish as the Cold War set in on the continent with the full force of a global confrontation.

Conclusions: For a Critical History of Non-Alignment In this chapter, I have offered some ideas for a critical assessment of Yugoslavia’s strategy in the Third World by focusing on Latin America, a region that has generally remained outside of the scope of works dealing with Yugoslav foreign policy and nam. To begin with, I claimed that we must not limit ourselves to identifying novel and uncharted connections between Belgrade and the Third World to further bolster the relevance of non-aligned networks, but that we must rather analyze Yugoslav foreign policy from a critical perspective that can identify both its achievements and its shortcomings on the ground. Moreover, I have shown that Yugoslavia’s strategy in Latin America during the early Cold War provides a revealing example of how Yugoslavia’s policy of non-alignment reached its limits in the 1960s due to the radicalization of the global Cold War. The context of the 1950s allowed for a considerable expansion of Yugoslav influence in Latin America, when Latin Americans leaders from the Marxist and nationalist left perceived neutralism as the most desirable path for the continent, but the intensifying wave of US pressures following the Cuban revolution made it that Yugoslavia’s partners became increasingly unreceptive to Belgrade’s rather “herbivore” conception of nonalignment. Moreover, I have shown that nationalist governments such as López Mateos’ in Mexico and Paz Estenssoro’s in Bolivia could occasionally use relations with nam as a gambit to increase their margins of negotiation but could rarely or never fully emancipate themselves from Washington’s control. All in all, this shows the manifest limits of non-alignment in the region

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and the utter naïveté of promoting equidistance vis-à-vis the blocs in such a geopolitical context. As a corollary, this chapter also aims to encourage a wider intellectual reflection on the history of nam as an alternative project for the Global South during the Cold War beyond the confines of Latin America. Considering the wider history of nam, especially its decline from the late 1960s onwards as a major factor in international politics and the fading force of Yugoslavia’s conceptions inside the Movement from the 1970s onwards in face of more radical visions such as the ones espoused by Cuba, this chapter suggests that we must interrogate non-alignment as a viable policy for the Third World at large. More generally, in view of the radicalization of the Cold War in Africa and Asia, it is clear that economic and military power became the primary factor in the definition of local political conflict. Ultimately, a critical history of non-alignment must ask if nam was a feasible alternative for peripheral countries under extreme economic and political strain or if it was rather the institutionalization of a series of gambits by leaders coming from the Global South with the aim of temporarily enlarging their margin of manoeuvre in face of both Moscow and Washington. To respond to that question, this chapter suggests that we must go beyond the spectacular declarations made by state leaders in Belgrade, Lusaka, and La Habana and actually inquire into the intricacies of non-alignment on the ground. A critical history of the Movement demands that we turn our focus away from the higher echelons of international politics and examine the regional and local scenarios where the global Cold War was fought and where non-alignment lost the battle for the Third World in spite of the justice of its ideals.

notes 1 Minutes from the ssnrj’s commission for international relations’ meeting where comrade Veljko Vlahović presented a report from his trip to Latin America. 2 For more about Waiss’s visit, and especially about his reception of the ideas of socialist self-management, see Cosovschi (forthcoming). 3 “Yugoslavia and the Non-U Countries,” cia Reports, 1 June 1960.

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references Calandra, Benedetta, and Marina Franco. 2012. La guerra fría cultural en América Latina: desafíos y límites para una nueva mirada de las relaciones interamericanas. Buenos Aries: Biblos. Čavoški, Jovan. 2019. “‘Yugoslavia’s Help Was Extraordinary’: Political and Material Assistance from Belgrade to the mpla in Its Rise to Power, 1961–1975.” Journal of Cold War Studies 21 (1): 125–50. Čehovin, Dušan. 1960. Ekonomski odnosi Jugoslavije sa inostransvom, Belgrade: Kultura. Cosovschi, Agustin. 2021. “Searching for Allies in America’s Backyard: Yugoslav Endeavors in Latin America in the Early Cold War.” The International History Review 43 (2): 281–96. – Forthcoming. “A Voice for the Yugoslavs in Latin America: Oscar Waiss and the Yugoslav-Chilean Connection in the Early Cold War.” In Inventing the Third World: In Search of Freedom in the Global South 1947–1979, edited by Jeremy Adelman and Gyan Prakesh. London: Bloomsbury. Dimić, Ljubodrag. 2014. Jugoslavija i Hladni rat. Belgrade: Arhipelag. Dimić, Natalija. 2018. “Achievements and Limitations of Yugoslavia’s Policy in Angola during the 1960s and 1970s.” Afriche et Orienti 3:9–30. Doknić, Branka. 2013. Kulturna politika Jugoslavije 1946–1963. Belgrade: Službeni glasnik. Drake, Paul W. 1992. Socialismo y populismo: Chile, 1936–1973. Valparaíso: Instituto de Historia, Vicerrectoría Académica, Universidad Católica de Valparaíso. Fernández, Joaquín. 2017. “Nacionalismo y Marxismo en el Partido Socialista Popular (1948–1957).” Izquierdas 34: 26–49. Field, Thomas C. 2018. From Development to Dictatorship: Bolivia and the Alliance for Progress in the Kennedy Era. Ithaca, ny: Cornell University Press. Field, Thomas C., Stella Krepp, and Vanni Pettinà, eds. 2020. Latin America and the Global Cold War. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Gleijeses, Piero. 2002. Conflicting Missions: Havana, Washington, and Africa, 1959–1976. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press. Hershberg, James G. 2007. “‘High-Spirited Confusion’: Brazil, the 1961 Belgrade Non-Aligned Conference, and the Limits of an ‘Independent’ Foreign Policy during the High Cold War.” Cold War History 7 (3): 373–88. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Tre a strana hladnog rata. Zagreb: Fraktura.

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Jazić, Živojin. 2010. Moj pogled na diplomatiju, Belgrade: Cigoja, Institut za medjunarodnu politiku i privredu. Lavaud, Jean-Pierre. 1998. El embrollo boliviano: Turbulencias sociales y desplazamientos políticos, 1952–1982. Lima: Institut français d’études andines. Mark, James, Péter Apor, Radina Vučetić, and Piotr Os ka. 2015. “‘We Are with You, Vietnam’: Transnational Solidarities in Socialist Hungary, Poland and Yugoslavia.” Journal of Contemporary History 50 (3): 439–64. McMahon, Robert J. 2013. The Cold War in the Third World. New York: Oxford University Press. Mišković, Nataša, ed. 2014. The Non-Aligned Movement and the Cold War: Delhi – Bandung – Belgrade. London: Routledge. Pettinà, Vanni. 2016. “Global Horizons: Mexico, the Third World, and the NonAligned Movement at the Time of the 1961 Belgrade Conference.” The International History Review 38 (4): 741–64. – 2018. Historia mínima de la Guerra Fría en América Latina. Mexico df: El Colegio de Mexico. Rabe, Stephen G. 2012. The Killing Zone: The United States Wages Cold War in Latin America. New York: Oxford University Press. Rajak, Svetozar. 2014. “No Bargaining Chips, No Spheres of Interest: The Yugoslav Origins of Cold War Non-Alignment.” Journal of Cold War Studies 16 (1): 146–79. Rupprecht, Tobias. 2015. Soviet Internationalism after Stalin: Interaction and Exchange between the ussr and Latin America during the Cold War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Simić, Bojan. 2021. Jugoslavija i Argentina, 1946–1955. Belgrade: Institut za noviju historiju Srbije. Spaskovska, Ljubica. 2018. “Building a Better World? Construction, Labour Mobility and the Pursuit of Collective Self-Reliance in the ‘Global South,’ 1950–1990.” Labor History 59 (3): 331–51. Turajlić, Mila. 2021. “Filmske Novosti: Filmed Diplomacy.” Nationalities Papers, 49 (3): 483–503. Vlahović, Veljko. 1981. Sabrani radovi, vol. 6, “Savremeni svijet i međunarodni radnički pokret.” Belgrade: Komunist. Vučetić, Radina. 2019. “We Shall Win: Yugoslav Film Cooperation with frelimo.” Revista Crítica de Ciências Sociais, 118: 131–50. Waiss, Oscar. 1956. Amanecer en Belgrado, Santiago: Prensa Latinoamericana.

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Yugoslav Survey. 1970. “Yugoslav Trade with Developing Countries.” Yugoslav Survey. A Record of Facts and Information 4:57–8. Zourek, Michal. 2014. Checoslovaquia y el Cono Sur 1945–1989: Relaciones politicas, económicas y culturales durante la Guerra Fria. Prague: Karolinum Press.

12 A Non-Aligned Continent: Africa in the Global Imaginary of Socialist Yugoslavia Nemanja Radonjić

Global Imaginaries and the Cold War The advent of global history paved the way for novel approaches in studying two phenomena that many consider the most important processes of the second half of the twentieth century: anti-imperialism and the Cold War (Byrne 2018; Judge and Langdon 2018).1 Entwined with these processes are the novel connections that Yugoslavia made with the Global South – first with anticolonial movements and then with the postcolonial states (Prashad 2007; Bogetić and Dimić 2011; Jakovina 2011; Mišković, Fischer-Tine, and Boškovska 2014; Radonjić, forthcoming). The appearance of Africa as a continent in the global imaginary of Yugoslavia and the continent as a metaphor of strength, unity, futurity, and peace is entirely tied to the main axis of Yugoslav foreign policy between 1956 and 1989 – non-alignment. Although the continent was a part of other Yugoslav global imaginaries, some preceding the Cold War – of which the most important ones were the socialist, anticolonial, anti-imperial, and antiracist global imaginaries – these imaginaries were eclipsed and even integrated into the dominant one of non-alignment. We can understand nonalignment as a foreign policy doctrine that rejected power politics, bloc politics, and foreign intervention and developed in parallel with the superpower doctrines, but this would be reductionist. It was also an emancipatory movement from economic, cultural, and racial subjugation (cf. Bogetić 2019; Čavoški 2015; Jakovina 2011; Petrović 2007; Dejvidson 1984).

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Following Castoriadis in terms of seeing social imaginaries as present in every culture and “encompassing” and “overdetermining” the “connection of symbolic networks” (James 2019, 39–40), I pose the question of Yugoslav postwar imaginaries. As Manfred Steger demonstrates, the prewar social imaginary of interwar Europe was shattered by the “self-destruction of Europe” that was the Second World War, and by the early Cold War, national imaginaries became irrevocably linked to global ones. Advances in infrastructure and communication also enabled leaders such as Mahatma Gandhi, Frantz Fanon, Che Guevara, Julius Nyerere, and Kwame Nkrumah to take a larger role in shaping postwar imaginaries, competing with European, United States, and Russian elites (Steger 2008, 129–50). If we are to think about the “global imaginary” as Kristina Klein (2003, 22– 3) presents it in her excellent study of the image of Asia in Cold War America – that is, as an ideological creation that maps the world conceptually and determines primary relations between people, regions, and nations – we can say that Yugoslav global imaginary was primarily tied to the non-aligned world (Willetts 1978, 31–5; cf. Jakovina 2011; Bogetić 2011). Building on my earlier work concerning the imaginary geography of Africa in Yugoslavia, I aim to demonstrate how “Africa” was an ideological creation and the ideal continent imbued with geographical and symbolic importance that became not only a metaphor for non-alignment but also a constant confirmation of Yugoslavia’s new global role and importance.

Forging a “Global Yugoslavia” The new positioning of Yugoslavia on a Cold War mental map was possible only after it became relatively free of other (“Balkan,” “Eastern European,” “bloc,” and “European”) geographies. The quick and adept Yugoslav turn towards the Global South was necessary in the perilous world made by the Cold War. A communist regime that still needed to legitimize itself over and over to the Yugoslav peoples and the world had already made several sharp turns by then: from being the most trusted Soviet satellite (and the most zealous one); then, from 1948, a most dangerous renegade; an uneasy ally of the West from c. 1951; and finally a returnee to the outskirts of the Soviet sphere of

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influence from 1955. It is precisely in the mid-1950s, the years of Tito’s journey to India and Burma with a stopover in Egypt, of the “Bandung spirit,” and of Brijuni, that Yugoslav diplomacy adopted a global planning mode, relinquishing its previous Eurocentric scope (Petrović 2007, 9; cf. Životić 2008; Jakovina 2017; Rubinstein 1970). The years of the Second World War and its immediate aftermath focused Yugoslav attention upon its own national imaginaries. The creation of a new political imaginary, based on equality, extended to the creation of a new Yugoslav consciousness, which would encompass all nations and nationalities in the slogan of “brotherhood and unity” and create a shared national imaginary, or rather several equal, coexisting ones (Jović 2003, 119–34; cf. Djilas 1991; Tepavac 2000). The anxiety over its new and porous borders continued after the war, with Yugoslav diplomats and reporters trying to document and confirm its hold on the borders with Italy and Austria (Archive of the Museum of African Art, Documentation, Box 26, Objava za druga Zdravka Pečara iz uredništva “Borba” da može putovati po Mađarskoj i Međumurju, Štab III Jugoslovenske armije, Belgrade, 21 April 1945; Labudović 2016; Stuparić 1978). The break with the East in 1948 meant that a search for a new geography was possible, which complemented Tito’s ambition of a larger role for himself and Yugoslavia, but the new Balkan pact setting became too narrow very quickly (Čavoški 2011, 557–77; Terzić 2008; Marković 1996). As a rather novel American ally, an adjunct to nato via the Balkan pact, Yugoslavia was represented in the West as a “Trojan horse” in the communist world and gently pulled from its previous Eastern European and Balkan setting.2 That same year, however, Tito wrote in his diary, fearful of too close of a relationship with the West (Tito 1951 quoted in Simić 2011), and the first economic and political entanglements of Yugoslavia and Western Europe and the US seemed to justify his fears (Bogetić 2006, 8). This is the moment when the Global South emerges on the Yugoslav radar. Of course, this Yugoslav alignment was only a response to a much deeper process of anticolonial liberation and postcolonial creation of nation states in Asia and Africa, a process Samir Amin (2019, 15) describes as “successive waves of the South’s awakening.” However, non-alignment was not a one-way street for the Yugoslav communist party and the diplomatic apparatus. The dichotomy of Europe/the non-aligned world was actualized even later, especially during times of crisis in the federation, so both the late 1960s and the 1980s were times of criticism

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of the Yugoslav non-aligned path (Jakovina 2011, 60; cf. Bogetić 2011; Jakovina, this volume). The only decade in which this commitment was not openly criticized was the 1970s, the “golden age” of Yugoslav non-alignment, and the time of détente. However, European and global perspectives seemed to be continuously presented as harmoniously entwined. Konstantin Koča Popović, the Yugoslav foreign secretary, spoke in 1954 in front of the National Assembly of Yugoslavia, stating that Yugoslavia was firmly rooted in regional and European affairs, but further on, she should look to the globe: “in close cooperation with the countries of Asia, America and other continents.” One of the last Yugoslav foreign secretaries, Raif Dizdarević (1999, 169), responded to the critics of the ninth conference of the non-aligned in 1989 who clamoured for “more Europe – less non-alignment,” arguing that this would mean the rejection of “globalism” in Yugoslav foreign policy. Yugoslavia embraced its global role towards which its communist mission of socialist internationalism already pointed. This role complemented the importance of United Nations support for Yugoslavia, a founding member. In addition, a global role created a tabula rasa for Yugoslav policymakers, a vast “playing field” for its ambitious globetrotters, and a sense of safety and belonging for its citizens. This did not mean the disappearance of other geographical imaginaries, but rather their fading into the background and Yugoslav insistence that all of them – national, regional, continental – fit perfectly within the global imaginary of non-alignment.

A Non-Aligned World To pursue a global policy and become the subject, not an object, of world politics, the aim of its communist leadership at least from 1944, Yugoslavs embarked upon a complex process of creating a global imaginary that would fit not only its national needs but also make it responsive to the needs of similar nations around the globe, from “faraway, but friendly countries” (daleke, ali nama prijateljske zemlje), creating a geography of integration. This was necessary because it engaged Yugoslavia in “global affairs” and gave it a disproportionately strong voice in issues concerning the Middle East, Berlin, Vietnam, Afghanistan, the Horn of Africa, nuclear disarmament, apartheid, and decolonization (Jakovina 2011; cf. Unkovski-Korica 2020; Vučetić 2017;

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Čedomir Štrbac, interview with the author, 1 December, 2016). At the height of non-alignment, the ever-expanding Yugoslav capital would be a host to grand international summits that would leave a permanent mark on the city architecture such as the Belgrade conference of the non-aligned (1961), the European conference on security (1975), the ninth conference of the nonaligned (1989), but also the anticolonial conference of the Mediterranean and the countries of the Near East (1959), the conference of African students in Europe (1962), and Tito’s elaborate funeral (1980). From an awkward pincer movement between the blocs, Yugoslavia became comfortably located as a crossroads between East and West and also North and South, intentionally ambivalent about its own “geography,” which resonated with its African partners (Stefanović 1987, 3). Some members of political elites from Africa, Asia, and Latin America (such as those of Egypt, Burma, or Chile) responded favourably to Yugoslav overtures, whether they were presented in bilateral globe-spanning missions or in un hallways (Rubinstein 1970; Čavoški, 2010, 2015; Jovanović 1990, Cosovschi, this volume). Anticolonial revolutions and non-aligned politics opened new horizons for political imaginaries but also opened a way for the League of Communists of Yugoslavia (lcy) to constantly reaffirm its revolutionary and emancipatory legacy (Kirn 2019; Manojlović Pintar 2011). I argue that the non-aligned world was crafted as a “natural global imaginary” to the supposedly harmonious national imaginaries of Yugoslavia; the global veneer on the national road to communism. Non-alignment can be viewed as a “powerful hegemonic discourse” in stark contradiction with other Cold War discourses or counterhegemonics precisely as a result of that. This particular discourse relied on humanizing and reducing otherness so it could be viewed as a “postcolonial utopia” or an “intercivilizational alliance,” which is what Leela Ghandi (1998, 136–9) considers Fanon’s “Third world.” The nonaligned world was then constructed in Yugoslavia as an antipode to the world of warring superpowers and “spheres of influence” politics (Routledge 2003, 237–8), linking it to the socialist imperative of global and lasting “peace” (Politika 1951; Popović 1961). Other global actors’ attempts to forge global imaginaries sometimes rivalled Yugoslav attempts. Such is the case with the political imagination of the “Third World.” The term was first coined by Alfred Sauvy in 1952 in L’Observateur and came to be used variably by Cold War actors (Tomlinson 2003, 307–21;

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cf. Cooper 2016; Prashad 2007; Rupprecht 2015). In Yugoslavia, this term was in rare and limited use (“the so-called Third World”); one of the reasons for this is that it was considered “of bourgeois origin,” but it was also because this would situate Yugoslavia firmly in the “Second World” (Mates 1963, 48; Kardelj 1975, 340, 353). That is why the preferred terms were “developing countries” (zemlje u razvoju), “underdeveloped countries” (nerazvijene zemlje), and especially “non-aligned countries” (nesvrstane zemlje), the last one a particular favourite of the political elite (Radonjić 2019). Yugoslav actors were ever fearful that non-alignment would become “an Afro-Asian and Latin-American alliance,” so they insisted on the global geography of “non-aligned countries” (Bogetić 2019, 28, 2011; Đerđa 1965; Vitalis 2013). This struggle for global representation was permanent. For example, in 1966 the Cuban leader Fidel Castro gathered eighty-three Asian, African, and Latin American countries in Havana in the famous tricontinental (Foss 2011, 250; Stubbs, this volume). Later that year, a member of the central committee of lcy criticized the exclusion of Africans from a meeting of socialist countries in Moscow, which included Yugoslavia, that discussed the “economic and social problems of Africa” and called for their inclusion, reminding everybody present: “when the issue was our skin, we were ever so sensitive about the rejection we got in the Havana Tricontinental, and we made a big deal out of it” (Archives of Yugoslavia [aj], 507/IX, ck skj, S-a, 198, Sastanak posvećen savetovanju u Moskvi o socijalnim i ekonomskim problemima Afrike, Belgrade, 21 May 1966, 30). Yugoslavs were, then, dedicated to ensuring non-aligned internationalism was not region or even “race”-dependent. Tito’s “duel” with Castro in the Havana conference of the non-aligned in 1979 (Petrović 2008, 261–80), and his “victory,” further entrenched this myth of the Yugoslav global imaginary as the “dominant” and “right” one within the non-aligned, being neither “radical” nor “race” or world-region dependent (cf. Stubbs, this volume). Although it started as a top-down affair, non-alignment in Yugoslavia quickly gained traction and became a “trickle-down” process. As Joanne Sharp (2003) brilliantly showed, shaping the world geographically during the Cold War did not end at cabinet meetings.3 Non-alignment in the 1970s gave Yugoslavia a sense of security and prestige and it permeated the public discourse (Dinkel 2019; Jakovina 2011). This wide space gave Yugoslav companies and workers a sense of “geopolitical pride” (Calori and Spaskovska 2021, 9–11;

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Sekulić, this volume). Interconnecting with the process of Yugoslav liberalization in the 1960s and the establishment of the “red passport” – that is, the visa liberation system Yugoslavia pursued – and the fact that Yugoslavia’s liminal, in-between position enabled its citizens to freely travel across most of the world, the non-aligned world became a part of a geography of security and integration. As an example of this global mobility, some forty-five hundred Yugoslav experts travelled on missions of technical aid to the Global South between 1958 and 1968, most of them to Africa (aj, Federal Executive Council, 130, 607, Zaključci sa savetovanja direktora saveznog zavoda za međunarodnu tehničku saradnju i direktora republičkih zavoda, 5 December 1968). Speaking at the funeral of President Josip Broz Tito, the president of the presidium of the lcy Stevan Doronjski spoke of Yugoslavia as the land of “brotherhood and unity,” “socialism,” and “non-alignment” (Politika 1980). On the occasion of every non-aligned conference and at the end of every summer in the period between 1961 and 1989, Yugoslav readers were treated to a special issue in the press, packed with colourful maps and posters. Texts and images showed the “non-aligned world” (nesvrstani svet) as a successful postcolonial utopia, in contrast to the dystopian world of the bloc, colonial, and apartheid states. The reader could see images of diverse cultures, new leaders, unknown peoples, and faraway cities in which conferences were held and began to understand them as a part of the world they themselves lived in. Africa was a key, inseparable, part of this world (cf. Borba Reflektor 1969; Večernji list 1979; Sedam dana 1986). Yugoslavs who looked at maps in the early Cold War period would have sensed a certain unease: Yugoslavia, all of Africa and Latin America, and most of Asia were coloured white or blank, and bloc and auxiliary regional alliances were marked in ominously dark colours (Smole 1961b, 44, 57–60). On the contrary, a 1985 spread from NIN, colourful, printed on quality paper, and probably meant as a wall poster, represented the non-aligned world as seen before the ministerial conference in Luanda. Here, most of the globe, its nation states, were coloured non-alignment pink, observers neutral orange, and guests yellow, with the “remaining counties” painted a benign green. This map could give Yugoslavs a sense of peace, globality, security, and belonging and could have easily decorated an export office, classroom, or newsroom. Africa dominated the centre of this map as the continent of non-alignment.

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Africa as the Non-Aligned Continent Africa was, through the Yugoslav crafting of the global imaginary of the nonaligned world, gradually becoming the non-aligned continent, a key spatial pole of non-alignment. The choice of this continent derived from several reasons. Latin America and Asia had important members in the Non-Aligned Movement (nam) such as India and Cuba, but their own internal frictions, great power pressures, and presence, and indeed their own ambitions, meant it was hard to achieve even a symbolic continental unity (Cosovschi, this volume; Čavoški 2011, 2015). In contrast, Africa was viewed as an essential part of the non-aligned world – the anticolonial revolution was considered as one of the key reasons nam came into being – and the areas of the globe relinquished by the colonial powers became “naturally” inclined to non-alignment. “Africa” became the imagined space where most non-aligned and most of Yugoslavia’s friends were and was a metaphor for the power and number of Yugoslav allies. Surely, this was not limited to the cabinet meetings of Yugoslav politicians but was a fluid and dynamic narrative about remapping the world, not unlike other shared geopolitical concepts of the Cold War. Other socialist European countries would also establish geographies of “friendship” in Africa (cf. Dragostinova 2021), but Yugoslavia was the only European socialist state that could harness the symbolic power of non-alignment.

New Political Imaginaries Historian, former director of the Belgrade Institute for the Study of the International Workers Movement, and former Yugoslav ambassador to Gabon and India Čedomir Štrbac (2016) explained that even though non-alignment was just one of numerous political alignments to choose from for African postcolonial states, in Yugoslavia it was widely believed that non-alignment would be the most natural choice for the whole continent. At the same time, the non-aligned world, and Africa within it, formed a protective layer for Yugoslavia. In short, how could Yugoslavia possibly be isolated and alone if a “whole continent” was at its side? As President Tito pointed out in one of his later interviews: “Yugoslavia has a lot of friends abroad. She is so famous in

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the world for her accomplishments and altruism that it is not simple to mount an attack against her” (Čolović et al. 1980, 491). If we adopt the stance that “international friendships take on a specific symbolic and affective impulse through key events which are commemorated and ritualized together” (Fotiadis 2019, 130), we can certainly locate these events in the conferences of nam. Of nine conferences that took place in the Cold War era, two were held in Yugoslavia and four in Africa. Viewing this in terms of a spatial timeline “from Belgrade to Belgrade,” we can easily establish that Africa was constantly presented as one of the key spatial support poles of non-alignment. Fortunately, Yugoslavia had excellent relations with the Organization of African Unity (oau), which it supported from 1963, and this was reciprocated in the oau’s recommendations to member states to adopt non-aligned politics (Iveković 1976, 8; cf. Willetts 1978). After the famous meeting on Brijuni in 1956, and the resulting communiqué that mentioned Africa mostly in terms of the flashpoints of Algeria and the Middle East, African states were represented as a segment of a “magnificent number, a huge amount of the mankind” and nam as the “willpower of 800 million people” (aj, Cabinet of the President of the Republic kpr, I-4a/6, “Joint Communique Issued in Brijuni in July 1956 after the Meeting Between President Nasser, President Tito and Prime Minister Nehru”). The diverse contacts of the political elite were synthetized in the Belgrade conference when Yugoslavia welcomed, among others, ten African postcolonial states, ten African liberation movements, and two interim governments (Bogetić 2019, 39, 76–87; cf. Čavoški 2014). These meetings tried to establish new African geopolitical realities; in the preparatory meeting for the Belgrade conference in Cairo, the representative of the Provisional Government of Algeria was greeted with applause while the delegation was a fully-fledged participant in the Belgrade conference (aj, kpr, I-4-a/1, Završni izveštaj pripremnog sastanka šefova država ili vlada neangažovanih zemalja, 12 June 1961, 5). The influence of this conference vis-à-vis the perception of Africa was the metanarrative of Yugoslav political exposés of the age; the main axis of world politics represented as successfully shifting from East-West to North-South, with Yugoslavia comfortably at the crossroads (Smole 1961a; Jerković 1961). Leo Mates (1963), the closest Yugoslavia had to an official historiographer of nam, also the general secretary of the Belgrade conference, wrote how “zones of colonial empires” became “non-aligned zones” through the process of the

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anticolonial revolution. He considered decolonization the first stepping stone towards a lasting change in world politics (21; Stuparić 1978, 217). The Yugoslavs understood very well which key topics could tie Africa to non-alignment, so the hallways of the National Assembly in Belgrade resonated with “African problems”: Algeria, apartheid, Tunisia, Angola, colonialism (Willetts 1978, 11, 13; cf. Mates 1972; Bogetić and Dimić 2011; Bogetić 2019; Stevan Labudović, interview with the author, 16 November 2016). The issue of the Congo was especially important that year, with Yugoslavia granting very covert and careful support to Patrice Lumumba and his political successors Antoine Gizenga and Cyrill Adoula but using the issue for internal and external anticolonial propaganda (Radonjić, forthcoming). These conferences presented an ideal opportunity to change the image of Africa. The official scenography – round tables, head of states’ medallions, group photo shoots – represented the African political actors in an atmosphere of equality and were widely disseminated (Dinkel 2014, 214). Famous photos, such as the one taken at the new building of the Federal Executive Council, where the tall Modibo Keita is prominent in traditional Malian attire, or the postage stamp with five racial/ethnic “types” representing global humanity, were appeals to equality in world politics. They achieved a double result: African leaders were given an opportunity to be equal in global politics, and in turn, the presence of a large number of African heads of states in Belgrade meant Yugoslavia could claim a global role and special ties to the entire continent. In 1964, the Cairo conference gathered forty-seven states, of which twentynine were African (Bogetić 2019, 40, 113–28). The resonance in Africa convinced the Yugoslavs that: “the politics of non-alignment is by far the most influential political process in these areas [Africa and the Middle East]” (Diplomatic Archive of the Ministry of Foreign relations of Serbia [damsps], Political Archive [pa] 3, 49504, Neke ocene o najnovijim kretanjima u Africi i Arapskim zemljama, Algeria, 1965, 13). This is why the Yugoslav delegation placed special emphasis on contacting the leaders of these countries, and their documents mapped key flashpoints of the continent: Congo, Rhodesia, the Portuguese colonies, Southern Africa (aj, kpr, I-4-a/5, Statement by his excellency Josip Broz Tito, 1 October 1964, 8). In a detailed report, the Yugoslav delegation underlined: “we must make a special effort to understand the acute problems that rile these countries in their battle against colonialism, in order to

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keep the trust we have gained in the countries that support our efforts and to keep up the cooperation” (aj, kpr, I-4-a/5, Informacija o Kairskoj konferenciji neangažovanih zemalja, 7 November 1964, 2; emphasis in original). In the following years, the “crisis of continuity” of nam affected both Yugoslavia and Africa (Stuparić 1978, 92). The Israeli-Arab war of 1967, a series of military coups in Africa, and the Soviet intervention in Czechoslovakia swayed world affairs (Westad 2019). Yugoslavs and some of their staunch African allies came to drastically different conclusions. Nasser, who was ever watchful of world affairs and had built his own mental map (Abdel Nasser 1955, 52; cf. Young 2001; Prashad 2007) told a flabbergasted Koča Popović on the last day of the ArabIsraeli war that he saw no further meaning in nam (aj, kpr, I-2/35–3, Put u Ujedninjenu arapsku republiku, 11–12 June 1967, 4). Yugoslavs, conversely, singled out the African countries as primary allies in a move to revive the Movement, making their African “friends” more ideologically ambiguous. Numerous foreign policy papers and minutes from the meetings sketched the continent thus: (1) Non-alignment is one of the most important forms of African presence in the international scene, (2) non-alignment is a “necessity” for African postcolonial states, (3) nonalignment is the most effective way of opposing the superpowers, (4) African states make up two-thirds of nam and are the “most constructive” part of nam (aj, Socialist Alliance of the Working People of Yugoslavia ssrnj, 142, 538, I, Mesto/uloga/ Afrike u svetu, 1968, 3; aj, 142, 538, I, “Neke karakteristike sadašnjih kretanja u Africi/politika nesvrstavanja – afričke i arapske zemlje,” 1968, 6; aj, 507/IX, S/a-234, Zabeleška sa sastanka sa predsednicima komisije za međunarodne odnose u republičkim centralnim komitetima, 31.10.1968; aj, 507/IX, S/a-234, “Nacrt rezolucije o spoljnopolitičkim stavovima skj”; Rezolucija. “Savez komunista Jugoslavije u borbi za ravnopravnu međunarodnu saradnju, za mir i socijalizam,” Deveti kongres skj, 266). Accordingly, Yugoslav leaders came to the conclusion that only the most diverse and active entanglement with a large number of independent African countries would guarantee the safety and importance of Yugoslavia itself. The Lusaka conference gathered sixty-four countries in 1970 ( kovina 2011, 72–77). It further stressed the project as a “postcolonial utopia” because it was convening a multiracial, global conference in a country under siege from racist and colonial dystopias (Borba Reflektor 1970; Delo 1970). Furthermore, this

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conference was very important for the concept of Africa as the non-aligned continent. To illustrate, Tito’s arrival by plane to Dar es Salaam, immediately prior to the conference, and his lavish welcome from President Nyerere was described by the Yugoslav press as the “moment of non-alignment” (trenutak nesvrstavanja; Simić, 1970). Concurrently, the crème de la crème of Yugoslav diplomacy (Josip Đerđa, Leo Mates, Dimče Belovski, Nijaz Dizdarević, and Budimir Lončar) began to understand that non-alignment could serve as the most flexible policy of engaging friends in Africa (aj, 507/IX, S/a-247, Stenografske beleške sa sednice Komisije Predsedništva skj za međunarodne veze održane 5.2.1970 sa početkom u 9,00 časova, 1–37). There were, of course, significant differences within the Yugoslav political elite, and they can be seen through the example of Africa. While Vladimir Popović considered the success of the Yugoslav mission among the African states, Đerđa was skeptical and joined Foreign Secretary Mirko Tepavac in his remark that the Lusaka conference was “with simply a too strong African focus” and “entrenched” nam into “purely African affairs.” In contrast, the veteran Mates was most positive when he pointed out in his study on the effectiveness of nam politics that “the youngest continent” of Africa even voted positively on the suggestion by the oau that African countries should join nam, underlining that this is the result of a common “destiny” and comes from “the socio-political condition and strivings of those world regions” (aj, kpr, I-4-a/9, Izvod iz beleške o razgovorima sa članovima jugoslovenske delegacije po završetku konferencije u Lusaki, 10.9.1970, 1–6; aj, 507/IX, S/a-257). Although Yugoslav diplomats understood that there were different opinions about nam within Africa itself, where “Black Africa” was focused on the issue of colonialism and the “Arabs” on the issue of the Middle East, still the image of Africans as the best and most numerous “friends” of Yugoslavia prevailed (aj, kpr, I-4-a/9, Izveštaj o trećoj konferenciji nesvrstanih zemalja, 14 September 1970, 6). This friendship with an entire continent was conveniently transferred to the un where the Yugoslav delegation was always counting on African votes when it came to “non-aligned issues” (aj, kpr, I-4-a/11, Nesvrstane zemlje na 27 zasedanju un, 6 January 1973). Consequently, no later than 1970, the image of Africa as the non-aligned continent was formed, with a member of the presidium of lcy speaking these words in 1972: “As early as the preparatory meeting in Belgrade … we have understood … that the most active region within the non-aligned is Africa,

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to be more precise Black Africa” (aj, 507/IX, S/a-247, Stenografske beleške sa sednice Komisije Predsedništva skj za međunarodne veze, 5 February 1970, 37). The subsequent conferences of the 1970s, in Algiers, Colombo, and Havana, although each had their share of problems for the Yugoslav agenda, with challengers such as Boumediene and Castro, still managed to keep the connections between Yugoslavia and the African states when it came to “African questions”: apartheid in South Africa, nonacknowledgment of Bantustans, the acceptance of Angola into the un, and the Middle East conflicts (Bogetić 2019, 356–78, 495–526). Although non-alignment had to contend with “political radicalism” both within the Movement and in new forms, such as tricontinentalism (Mahler 2018), Africa was more and more perceived as the “fortress of the non-aligned” as Tvrtko Jakovina (2011, 477) called it. During the 1970s, the countries of Africa previously considered progressive by the Yugoslavs were equalized with those deemed non-aligned, as every division within the nonaligned in Africa threatened the image of the “non-aligned continent” (aj, kpr, I-2/47, Zabeleška o završnim razgovorima Predsednika Tita i Sadata i njihovih saradnika, 19 February, 1971). This global imaginary led to such absurd situations as Yugoslavs considering Ethiopia as having “non-alignment as the basis of their foreign policy” even when the country signed a Treaty of Friendship with the ussr (aj, kpr, I-3-a/24–35, Informacija o socijalističkoj Etiopiji, 28 November 1978, 6). Likewise, absurd situations such as the arrival of dictators and even former radical Others of Yugoslavia further complicated these relations, with Yugoslavs giving a royal welcome to Nyerere in 1975 but tucking away Idi Amin Dada to Pula and Brijuni in 1976 (aj, kpr, I-3-a/115– 8, Beleška u vezi sa posetom Predsednika Rpeublike Tanzanije Julius Njererea i supruge, 28 March 1975; aj, kpr, I-3-a/120–5, Beleška sa konsultativnog sastanka Koordinacionog tela za posete šefova stranih država, 14 April 1976, 1–7). In the 1980s, Yugoslavia was enjoying a “victory lap”: “all the countries of Africa, with the exception of the Republic of South Africa, have declared themselves non-aligned” (Archive of Slovenia [as], 1271, Društveno-politička kretanja u Africi sa osvrtom na mesto i ulogu sfrj i odnose sa afričkim zemljama, 1985, 1–5).4 This meant a further suppression of other global imaginaries, such as the capitalist-socialist division, a “deideologization” as Budimir Lončar called it (Stubbs, this volume). The ideological Other, a staple of the Cold War divide, was totally discouraged, so Yugoslav analysts strained to find “non-

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aligned currents” both in capitalist Kenya and socialist Tanzania (Compare: aj, Presidium of Yugoslavia, 803, 845, Podsetnik za razgovore predsednika Predsedništva sfrj Veselina Djuranovića sa predsednikom ur Tanzanije Juliusom Njerereom, Beograd, 14–17 March 1985, 2; and aj, 803, 846, Podsetnik za usmenu informaciju predsednika Predsedništva sfrj Radovana Vlajkovića o poseti predsednika Republike Kenije Daniela Arapa Moia, 5 June 1985, 1). Although the conference in Harare in 1986 made public a “visible demoralization,” the Council of the Federation (Savet Federacije) considered the Movement of continued key value for Yugoslav security, reputation, and prestige. Thus, the global imaginary of non-alignment was kept alive as one of the support structures of the federation but also a stable foreign policy and Tito’s heritage (Mates 1980, 1; cf. Jaкovina 2011; Bogetić 2019). In 1989, Belgrade once again welcomed the representatives of the nonaligned – African countries were included amongst the 171 delegations and 2800 delegates. The federal elite and experienced diplomats tried to maintain a global foreign policy, but they were ignored or outright attacked by the new, ever powerful, nationalist elite of the Yugoslav Republics who began using local media to mount attacks on the conference and criticize nonaligned politics, considering the national (i.e., Republic-based) and European perspective as more “natural” (Dizdarević 1989; Šerber 1989; Miloje Popović and Danilo Milić, interview with the author, December 2016). To combat these attacks upon an established global imaginary and the associated politics of non-alignment, the organizers of the conference carefully chose an African ally. Instead of a khalabia-clad Muammar al-Gaddafi, who began to epitomize more “exotic” characteristics of an African leader, the suit-and-tied Dr Robert Mugabe was picked. Dr Janez Drnovšek, the acting Yugoslav head of state, was the host of the conference and cooperated with Mugabe; they were even captured in photographs of famous non-aligned cordiality. Mugabe was presented as a “former shepherd,” a “guerrilla leader from the bush,” a “prisoner of the South African republic,” and a “famous victor of the first free elections in Zimbabwe.” He was a good fit for the “modernizing” mission of nam that was proclaimed at the very same conference (cf. Biščević 1989; Petković 1989; Stamenković 1989). This was especially important because the head of the organizational committee, Dževad Mujezinović, confronted the critics of non-alignment with

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the thesis of the interconnectedness of Yugoslav policy in Europe and the “Third world.” Here, we detect the last attempts to defend nam, the image of Africa included, from criticism of being an “exotic” or “anti-modernist” foreign policy. Mujezinović (1989) almost resonates the vision of Koča Popović from 1954 speaking of a “postcolonial utopia” asking for understanding that “[this politics] would be a contribution to the future of multinational Europe and vice versa – the contribution of Europe to the multinational and nonaligned Yugoslavia” (see also Čućić 1989). The party newspaper Borba also had to defend nam from critics who spoke of Yugoslavia abandoning Europe and “submerging itself into an imaginary continent of the third world … an invented continent located somewhere between Africa and Asia” (Klarin 1989). This all showed the importance and utility, but also the fragility, of what Paul Stubbs (this volume) calls Yugoslav liminality and what I here call intentional ambivalence.

New Cultural Imaginaries In the early years of the Cold War, rare Yugoslav travellers would not be surprised if “crocodiles walked the streets of Khartoum” (aj, Committee for Foreign Cultural Relations, Box 559, 59–132, Veze sa Sudanom. Pismo Milenka Babića drugu Miketiću, Kartum, 25 August 1963). The vast area of Africa figured more in cultural imaginaries preceding socialism, such as Islamic cultural entanglements of Yugoslav Muslims (Henig and Razsa, this volume; damsps, PA, Egypt, f.18, 1954, 410246, Hadži Ibrahim Fejić Reis ul ulema Islamske vjerske zajednice u fnrj Dr Abdurahmanu Tadžudinu rektoru univerziteta Al Azhar, 2 July 1954). Looking into travel writing can give us a sense of global, social, and cultural imaginaries and changes in the imaginary geography of a society. Yugoslav travel writing, and that of the Eastern bloc, reflected the values and changes in the communities it represented, promoting strong, socialist internationalism, anticolonialism, and antiracism and serving as a vessel for images of new ties between the East and the South but also showing ambiguity about being European and white (Radonjić 2016, 2017; Burton et al., forthcoming). A new subgenre of travelogues emerges, specifically in Yugoslavia and especially in the 1970s, using non-alignment as a vehicle of cultural

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understanding. Africa was gradually included in a Yugoslav image of Africa as the non-aligned continent, culturally diverse, expansive, but reachable and knowable. Individual countries, such as Sudan, were seen as the “most friendly” because they “opened the ways of socialist development, and allied themselves with the non-aligned and freedom-loving nations of the world” (Šekler 1975, 76). The long-time Tanjug correspondent from Africa, Dara Janeković, wrote about the continent in terms of its non-aligned coordinates: non-alignment was the “correct” orientation for African countries and the only positive “force” of the era (Janeković 1985, 180–3, 185, 99–144). The “engraving” of Africa on the Yugoslav non-aligned map is best seen in two travelogues that came from the Kragujevac-Kilimanjaro expedition of 1975. This expedition aimed to bring five brand new Yugoslav “Zastava 101” cars driven by eleven workers and journalists to the peak Kibo on Mt. Kilimanjaro. Although the expedition had overwhelming similarities with the Black Citroen expeditions of the 1920s and the travels of Tatra from the 1940s, these were imbued with new, exclusively Yugoslav, socialist, and non-aligned meanings and symbols (Radonjić 2016). Supported by the state, the convoy rolled out of Kragujevac on 14 February 1975, the last day of the fourth congress of self-management workers of Yugoslavia, and it was gifted the “Red Banner of Self-Management.” The Yugoslav symbolism was further established by large portraits of Tito, the red colour of the cars, and the press trumpeting the fact that the car parts were made in different Republics of Yugoslavia. The “non-aligned veneer” to the “inner harmony” of Yugoslavia was achieved by the expedition route. It went through Egypt, Sudan, Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania. This chain of non-aligned countries (broken only by Greece but with the Mediterranean as the link here) is akin to other powerful spatial formations (“Cairo to Cape Town” or “DakarDjibouti”), forming an image of the continent suitable to ideological formations of the “mapmaker.” This helped to transform the global imaginary into a “textual zone” through travelogues (Lisle 2006, 138, 168). The two expedition journalists wrote about Africa compassionately but also patronizingly, adopting the discourse of common modernization, with Yugoslavs being the elders to the African younger members of the ever-expanding non-aligned family. Not only did these writers exclaim, “We come from non-aligned Yugoslavia”

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(Šekler 1976, 165), but they also constantly painted the continent of Africa and its diverse states as primarily non-aligned (Šekler 1975; Sekulić 1982). The subversion of dominant geographies of North-South was achieved by creating an alternative geography of a chain of non-aligned countries from Yugoslavia to Tanzania. The “trickle-down” effect of non-alignment in Yugoslavia was ever more present in cultural imaginaries, and Africa was an important part of it. For example, in Kruševac, a medium-sized industrial city in the Republic of Serbia, a small publisher, Bagdala, specializing in French poetry, decided to publish an edition called Library of the Nonaligned (Biblioteka nesvrstanih). In the end, it published about eighty books, such as Contemporary Poetry of Cuba, Contemporary Poetry of Kenya, Tanzania and Uganda, and Contemporary Poetry of Burma. The books contained Yugoslav expert introductions but also introductory remarks by poets, such as the South African Denis Brutus (1979, 5–8; Švob-Đokić 1979, 49–51). With this accomplishment, Bagdala mapped out the non-aligned world. That this non-alignment “trickle-down” was ever present we can find in the not so curious celebration of the liberation of Kruševac on 14 October 1970. Along with old Partisans and images of war and liberation, locals could watch a two-day special performance by a Malian state folklore troupe while local poets read out African poetry and groups of people viewed an exhibition about everyday life in Mali (aj, Box 559, 125–265, Muzički folklor i amaterizam 1967–1971, Izveštaj o gostovanju nacionalnog folklornog ansambla republike, Mali, 28 October 1970). This is further evidence that national imaginaries of antifascism and socialism were supplemented with global imaginaries of non-alignment, and especially in the 1970s, Africa had a strong role to play within it.

Bringing Non-Aligned Africa into the Yugoslav Cold War Home Yugoslavia had followed the politics of non-alignment, and its populace had a clear understanding that non-alignment was an important and even everyday aspect of Yugoslav lives. Examples include media coverage, school curricula, and public manifestations but also grassroots actions and individual aspirations. This in turn fits into the larger picture of Yugoslav Cold War re-

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alities and into what Kwon (2010) has shown through the examples of Korea and Vietnam; that is, the fact of “critical issues of world politics being present in the ‘everyday communal life.’” Yugoslav media had an extremely important role in forming the image of non-aligned Africa. This can be seen in the files that seem peripheral to the archive of Tito’s journeys: reports of journalists that are on board his presidential ship, Galeb, speak directly to the reader, while letters of ordinary citizens speak directly to their leader (aj, kpr, IV-5-a, box 42, Građa za hroniku o Titu, Beograd, 1966, knjiga 1, 190; Miličević 1961). This formed a specific narrative that quickly disseminated new “geographical” conceptions such as “Egypt,” “The Red Sea,” “Gulf of Guinea,” and “Africa” itself. The Brijuni (1956) or New Delhi (1966) meetings were an opportunity for Yugoslav journalists to praise the alliance with Asia and Africa (Gustinčić 1956; Politika 1966). Within this, it was especially important to present Africa as a non-aligned continent. The Yugoslav party daily Borba carried an article from the Tanzanian daily news in 1978 claiming “non-alignment is the only alternative to the pressures Africa is facing” while, similarly, the Sarajevo-based Oslobođenje wrote in 1980: “Non-alignment is the natural alignment for Africa.” Every conference of the non-aligned was a great opportunity for the small countries to gain disproportionate voice (Dinkel 2014, 209, 216). tv shows, special editorials, and booklets traced non-alignment from conference to conference. An excellent example of non-aligned and the role of African imaginary eclipsing other Yugoslav mental maps is the front page of Borba from 10 September 1973. It uses the headline: “Total success. The IV Conference of the Non-aligned in Algiers Ends” while Tito is pictured to the side exclaiming: “not a new course but a more dynamic non-alignment.” At the very bottom of the page, with approximately the same format of the commercial for Čelik, a metallurgical combinate from Križevci, is the news that the president of the ministerial council of ussr is coming to Yugoslavia. Again, the image of Africa was key in forming the non-aligned world, as seen in the Radio Television Belgrade documentary on non-alignment from 1971. This feature-length film starts and ends with images of Africa while images of wars and instability are interrupted by images of “harmonious” non-aligned summits. In one segment, an animation taken from a Western media outlet mapping independent African states to the backdrop of the sound of rolling drums sketches political

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changes in Africa in 1960, and the Yugoslav narrator exclaims: “[these countries] have almost without exception taken up the mantle of non-alignment” (Marković 1971). Every conference of the non-aligned from 1961 to 1989 underlined Yugoslav-African friendship and unity. This is especially present in visual materials which, unlike texts, had to give a rather simple and unsubtle message. It was a message of harmonious relations between Yugoslavia and Africa. These materials visualized African leaders as politically mature, responsible, and capable of participating in complex world politics, but they also carried a message of an unspoken bond and alliance between a small European country and a whole continent (Mates 1963; Kićović 1977, 1979; Borba Reflekor 1969; Večernji list 1979). This alliance was confirmed by further engraving of new spaces and places in the global imaginary. By way of repetition, the Yugoslav media outlets made Lusaka an “unforgettable event,” tirelessly chanting how this conference was important for Yugoslavia, Africa, and the world, and how Brijuni or Belgrade gave birth to the Movement and new spatial formations (Mihovilović 1976, 1978). At the same time, special editorials and columns spoke about the importance of non-alignment for Africa’s own affairs. In 1981, for example, Dušica Petković wrote a month-long column in which she spoke of the interconnectedness of decolonization and non-alignment in Africa, the futility of a racist agenda, the backwardness of colonial spatial formations, and the non-alignment in Africa as “natural,” “non-stoppable” and “constantly rising.” Schools and colleges also had their role in this mapmaking. The initial anticolonial agenda was supplemented with a non-aligned one in the 1970s. In 1961, for example, students made wall posters of Patrice Lumumba and organized actions to rebuild destroyed schools in war zones on the Algerian border (Miloje Popović and Danilo Milić, interview with the author 2016; Borislav Korkodelović, interview with the author, 2018). Later developments were less revolutionary and more in line with an idea of non-alignment as an evergrowing family of countries. The 1978 book A View into the World: Africa was a testament to a non-aligned cultural network that catered to a new generation of Yugoslavs. Written by the Africanist Biserka Cvjetičanin, and with materials supplemented from African embassies in Yugoslavia, this book represented a non-aligned, complex, dynamic, vibrant continent of modern development

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and a beautiful tradition. The reception of these ideas was sometimes surprisingly good. In 1972, a member of the central committee of the lcy wrote an exclamation mark on a copy of a poll made among the youth of Belgrade that claimed 84 per cent of them were pro the country’s “non-aligned policy” (aj, Box 507/IX, ck skj, S-a 256, Neke ideje o temi “Međunarodni položaj Jugoslavije, međunarodni odnosii njihov uticaj na omladinu,” 1972, 4, 6, 7–8). Children’s letters to President Tito and their entries into museum guest books mimicked the language of the elite speaking of “our friends in Africa” and “the lovely people of Egypt … who are our great friends” (aj, kpr, I-3-a/121– 6, Pismo Milice Tomašević drugu Titu, 13 July 1956; amau, Knjiga utisaka mau za javnost 1977–1980).

Conclusion With the formation of the non-aligned global imaginary and especially from around 1970, Africa was presented as an integral part of the non-aligned world, its states important and active members of the Movement, and this, along with other facts, was used to show African postcolonial states as active subjects of world history. Africa was presented as the “closest” continent to Yugoslavia after Europe, trading geographical conceptions of distance for ideological concepts of political friendship. The bonds between the small, peripheral European country and the whole diverse continent were intentionally simplified so the continent became the image and projection of the Yugoslav global role. Regardless of changes within this heterogonous continent, and Yugoslav foreign policy fluctuations towards partners in Africa, there was always an “African” friend to rely on, and “Africa” was always presented as a space populated by friendly countries. Although the initiative for nam was a top-down affair, in Yugoslavia too it became decentralized, creating multiple responses that had a commonality of desire and purpose in the Yugoslav global imaginary for a non-aligned Africa. Yugoslav cultural imaginaries and citizens adjusted well to this new spatial reimagining of the world, which is telling of their desires for a safe, connected, and global space in which Yugoslavia is appreciated well beyond her power. Non-alignment gradually eclipsed other imaginings of the continent,

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which were quickly integrated into this all-encompassing global imaginary and became the main optics through which Yugoslav diplomats, travel writers, and school students viewed Africa.

notes 1 This work was supported by the Institute for Recent History of Serbia, which is financed by the Ministry of Education, Science and Technology of the Republic of Serbia, based on the “Contract for financing scientific and research tasks of the Institute in 2021” of 5 February 2021 (num. 451-03-9/2021-14/ 200016). 2 Curiously enough, in the first ever National Geographic reportage from communist Yugoslavia, one photograph of a warlike Tito on a white horse surveying his troops notes how the country is situated in Western (!) Europe (Long and Wentzel 1951). 3 For a great example of exploring political concepts created within the dominant political elite but shared among various social groups, see Sharp (2003, 332–53). 4 With gratitude to my colleague Jure Ramšak.

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nesvrtanih.” Vjesnik, supplement, August 1989.Delo. 1970. “Zaključek vrha v Lusaki.” Delo, 11 September 1970.Đerđa, Josip. 1965. “Bandung je samo jedan.” Vjesnik, 12 August 1965. Deveti kongres skj. 1969. (The Ninth Congress of the lcy). Beograd: Komunist. Dejvidson, Basil. 1984. Afrika u Povijesti. me i osnove razvoja, Zagreb: Globus. Dinkel, ürgen. 2014. “To Grab the Headlines in the World Press.” In The Non Aligned Movement and the Cold War, edited by Nataša Mišković, Harold Fisher, and Nada Boškovska, 207–26. London: Routledge. – 2019. The Non-Aligned Movement: Genesis, Organization and Politics (1927–1992). Leiden: Brill. damsps. Diplomatic Archive of the Ministry of Foreign relations of Serbia, Political Archive (pa). Various files. Dizdarević, Raif. 1999. Od smrti Tita do smrti Jugoslavije. Svjedočenja (From the Death of Tito to the Death of Yugoslavia. A Memoir). Sarajevo: Grafičko izdavačka kuća. Dizdarević, Zlatko. 1989. “Aplauz za divljenje i čudenje.” Oslobo enje, 10 September 1989. Djilas, Aleksa. 1991. The Contested Country: Yugoslav Unity and Communist Revolution 1919–1953. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Dragostinova, Theodora. 2021. The Cold War from the Margins. A Small Socialist State on the Global Cultural Scene. New York: Cornell University Press. Foss, Clive. 2011. “Fidel Castro.” In Mental Maps in the Early Cold War Era 1945– 1968, edited by Steven Casey and Johnathan Steven Wright, 240–61. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Fotiadis, Ruža. 2019. “Opasni prijatelji, neverna braća-bliskost i udaljenost u međunarodnim odnosima na primjeru Grčke i Jugoslavije.” In Reprezentacije socijalističke Jugoslavije. Preispitivanja i perspektive edited by Hannes Grandits, Vladimir Ivanović, and Branimir Janković, 127–39. Zagreb and Sarajevo: Srednja Europa-umhis. Ghandi, Leela. 1998. Postcolonialism. A Critical Introduction. Crows’ Nest, au: Allen and Unwin. Gustinčić, Juraj. 1956. “Brionski dokument.” Politika, 21 July 1956. Iveković, Ivan. 1976. Afrika i socijalizam (Africa and Socialism). Belgrade: Komunist. Jakovina, Tvrtko. 2011. Tre a strana hladnog rata. Zagreb: Fraktura – 2017. “Aktivna koegzistencija nesvrstane Jugoslavije.” In Jugoslavija u istorijskoj

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perspektivi, edited by Latinka Perović, Drago Roksandić, Mitja Velikonja, Wolfgang Hoepken, and Florian Bieber, 434–85. Belgrade: Helsinški odbor za ljudska prava u Srbiji. James, Paul. 2019. “The Social Imaginary in Theory and Practice.” In Revisiting the Global Imaginary. Theories, Ideologies, Subjectivities: Essays in Honor of Manfred Steger, edited by Chris Hudson and Erin K. Wilson, chapter 3. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Janeković, Dara. 1985. Kad mora uzavriju (Simmering Seas). Zagreb: Globus. Jerković, Đorđe [Josip Đerđa]. 1961. “Putem jedne alternative.” Me unarodna politika, 272–3. Jovanović, Jadranka. 1990. Jugoslavija i savet bezbednosti 1945–1985. Belgrade: isi. Jović, Dejan. 2003. Jugoslavija: Država koja je odumrla: Uspon, kriza i pad Četvrte Jugoslavije. Zagreb-Belgrade: Prometej-Samizdat B92. Judge, Edward H., and Langdon, John W. 2018. The Struggle Against Imperialism: Anticolonialism and the Cold War. London: Rowman and Littlefield. Kardelj, dvard. 1975. Istorijski koreni nesvrstavanja (The Historical Roots of Non-Alignment). Belgrade: Komunist. Kićović, Božidar. 1977. Od Briona do Kolomba (From Brijuni to Colombo). Gornji Milanovac: Dečije novine. – 1979. “Vizija sutrašnjeg sveta.” Borba, 8 July 1979. Kirn, Gal. 2019. Partisan Ruptures. Self-Management, Market Reform and the Spectre of Socialist Yugoslavia. London: Pluto Press. Klarin, Miko. 1989. “Što nam je trebao samit.” Borba, 8 September 1989. Klein, Christina. 2003. Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination, 1945–1961. Berkeley: University of California Press. Kwon, Heonik. 2010. The Other Cold War. New York: Columbia University Press. Lisle, Debbie. 2006. Global Politics of Contemporary Travel Writing. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Long, George W., and Volkmar Wentzel. 1951. “Yugoslavia Between East and West.” National Geographic, February. Mahler, Ann Gustav. 2018. From the Tricontinental to the Global South: Race, Radicalism and Transnational Solidarity. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Manojlović Pintar, lga. 2011. “Muzeji umiru takođe.” Foreword to Muzej afričke umetnosti. Konteksti i reprezentacije by Sladojević, Ana, Belgrade: Muzej afričke umetnosti.

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Marković, Borivoje. 1971. Odiseja mira – brod dobre nade. Edited by Olivera Gajić. Radio Television Belgrade: https://rtsplaneta.rs/video/show/445255/. Marković, Predrag. 1996. Beograd izme u Istoka i zapada 1948–1965. Belgrade: Službeni list srj. Mates, Leo. 1963. Neangažovanost (Noninvolvement). Belgrade: Sedma sila. – 1972. Nonalignment: Theory and Current Policy. Institute for International Politics and Economics. Belgrade & New York: Oceana Publications. – 1980. Počelo je u Beogradu. 20 godina nesvrstanosti (Belgrade Is Where It Began. Twenty Years of Non-Alignment). Zagreb: Globus. Mihovilović, Maroje. 1976. “Snaga koja nije sila.” Fokus, 28 August 1976. – 1978. “Nesvrstanost u slici i reči.” Večernji list, 19 July 1978. Miličević, Obren. 1961. With Friends in Africa. Belgrade: Jugoslavija. Mišković, Nataša, Harold Fisher-Tiné, and Nada Boškovska. 2014. The Non Aligned Movement and the Cold War. London: Routledge. Mujezinović, Dževad. 1989. “Za veće rezumijevanje Evrope.” Oslobo enje, 17 August 1989. nin. 1985. “Luanda ‘85. Nesvrstani svet danas.” Summer 1985, special folding map. Oslobođenje. 1980. “Nesvrstanost je prirodno opredeljenje Afrike,” Oslobo enje, 16 November 1980. Petković, Dušica. 1981. “Ograničene reforme” and other articles. Borba, 14–22 September 1981. Petković, Ranko. 1989. “Osavremenjivanje nesvrstanosti.” Me unarodna politika 947. Petrović, Vladimir. 2007. Jugoslavija stupa na Bliski Istok: Stvaranje jugoslovenske bliskoistočne politike. Belgrade: Institut za savremenu istoriju. – 2008. Titova lična diplomatija.Studije i dokumantarni prilozi. Belgrade: isi. Politika. 1951. “Mir mora biti delo svih naroda i svih država sveta,” 25 October 1951. – 1966. “Razgovor utroje,” 8 July 1966. – 1980. “Sahranjen drug Tito,” 9 May 1980. Popović, Konstantin Koča. 1954. “Ekspoze o spoljnoj politici.” Me unarodna politika 99, 16 May 1954. Popović, Vasilije. 1961. “Mirno leto.” Politika, 15 February. Prashad, Vijay. 2007. The Darker Nations. A People’s History of the Third World. New York: New Press. Radonjić, Nemanja. 2016. “From Kragujevac to Kilimanjaro.” Imagining and Re-imagining Africa and the Self-Perception of Yugoslavia in Travelogues from Socialist Yugoslavia.” Godišnjak za društvenu istoriju 23 (2): 23–55.

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Stamenković, Predrag. 1989. “Sjaj i beda nezavisnosti.” nin, 31 August 1989. Stefanović, Momčilo, compiler. 1987. Svet i Tito (The World and Tito). Zagreb-Novi Sad: Globus-Matica Srpska. Steger, Manfred. 2008. Rise of the Global Imaginary. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stuparić, Darko. 1978. Diplomate izvan protokola. Ambasadori Titove Jugoslavije (Diplomats Off the Record. The Ambassadors of Tito’s Yugoslavia). Zagreb: Centar za kulturnu delatnost sso Hrvatske.Švob-Đokić, Nada. 1979. “Pogovor. Poezija i aparthajd” (Afterword: Poetry and Apartheid) in Savremena južnoafrička poezija (Contemporary South African Poetry), 49–51. Kruševac: Bagdala. Tepavac, Mirko. 2000. “Tito 1945–1980.” In Burn This House: The Making and Unmaking of Yugoslavia, edited by Jasmina Udovički and James Ridgeway, 64–79. Durham, nc: Duke University Press. Terzić, Milan. 2008. “Tito i Balkanski pakt. Premošćavanje na putu ka neutralnosti.” In Spoljna politika Jugoslavije 1950–1960, edited by Slobodan Selinić, 573–86 Belgrade: Institut za noviju istoriju Srbije. Tito, Josip Broz, 1979. Govori ‘78 (Speeches, ’78). Belgrade: Borba. Tomlinson, B.R. 2003. “What Was the Third World?” Journal of Contemporary History 38 (2): 307–21. Unkovski-Korica, Vladimir. 2020. “Yugoslavia’s Third Way. The Rise and Fall of Self-Management.” In Routledge Handbook of Balkan and Southeast European History, edited by John R. Lampe and Ulf Brunnbauer, 463–71. London: Routledge. Večernji list. 1979. “Nesvrstani ‘79.” Večernji list, 30 August 1979. Vitalis, Robert. 2013. “The Midnight Ride of Kwame Nkrumah and Other Fables of Bandung (Bandoong).” Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development 4 (2): 261–88. Vučetić, Radina. 2017. “Titova Afrika. Reprezentacija moći na Titovim afričkim putovanjima.” In Tito u Africi. Slike solidarnosti, edited by Pol Bets and Radina Vučetić, 12–45. Belgrade: Muzej Jugoslavije. Westad, Odd Arne. 2019. The Cold War: A World History. New York: Basic Books. Willetts, Peter. 1978. The Non-Aligned Movement: The Origins of a Third World Alliance. London: Frances Pinter. Young, Robert. 2001. Postcolonialism. An Historical Introduction. London: Routledge. Životić, Aleksandar. 2008. “Jugoslavija i Bliski Istok 1945–1956.” In Spoljna politika Jugoslavije 1950–1960, edited by Slobodan Selinić, 483–96. Belgrade: Institut za noviju istoriju Srbije.

part five

Mobilities and Migrations

13 Transnational Educational Strategies during the Cold War: Students from the Global South in Socialist Yugoslavia, 1961–91 Leonora Dugonjic-Rodwin and Ivica Mladenović

Introduction Unlike Great Britain, France, and Germany, which historically attracted students from Central and Eastern Europe (Karady 2004), Yugoslavia had no tradition of international education. In the 1960s, when students began to arrive from neighbouring countries such as Albania and Bulgaria, a rapidly developing education system enabled Yugoslav universities to admit them. After Yugoslavia gradually turned to the Global South following its expulsion from the Cominform in 1948, “foreign students” – mainly from Africa, the Middle East, and Asia – grew from only a few dozen in the mid-1950s to over nine thousand in 1984–85 (Savezni zavod za statistiku 1965 et seq.). Its rapprochement with the “Third World” accounts for this sudden influx. Other factors that have largely been overlooked point to the importance of social conditions in receiving international students in Yugoslavia. The large-scale changes in the social structures of the state and the education system and the growth of the professions and industry are the less visible factors behind these student inflows. Since Yugoslavia had one of the highest illiteracy rates in Europe during the interwar period (Martić and Supek 1967), the mere presence of international students had a social, political, economic, and cultural significance. It affected the outlook of Yugoslavs beyond the high echelons of diplomacy and foreign trade. Still today, the Patrice Lumumba university dormitory in Belgrade bears the name of one of the most emblematic figures in the struggle

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for an independent Congo.1 Students organized large demonstrations in Belgrade and attacked the Belgian Embassy after his assassination on 17 January 1961 (Fichter 2016). Historians have shown that such expressions of solidarity affected socialist societies, writ large beyond diplomacy, allowing a second generation to “develop new political subjectivities and identities at home” (Mark and Apor 2015, 856), what could be termed in this respect a “Yugoslav habitus.”2 Yet despite the abundance of sources, both archival and nonarchival, studies on the “new socialist internationalism” have rarely considered the perspectives of the protagonists of the Third World in this transnational dynamic (Sanchez-Sibony 2014). Much of the existing literature on international students in Yugoslavia has emphasized the nation’s remoteness from both East and West, its investment in the largely non-European Non-Aligned Movement, and its own precarious status in global power dynamics (Lazić 2009; Bondžić 2011; Bogetić 2014; Kuč 2019; Mitrović 2015; Wright 2020). Along with social ownership and workers’ self-management, Yugoslavia made its non-alignment one of the key principles of its specific form of socialism (Kardelj 1979), in the words of economist Branko Horvat (1976) “associative socialism.” Yugoslav diplomacy, however, was just one dimension of the large-scale social change brought about by the construction of a socialist state. Anticolonial internationalism in the political, economic, and cultural spheres went hand in hand with the democratization of higher education, which provided the sociohistorical conditions for the production of a Yugoslav outlook, informed by non-alignment and “Third Worldism” (Robertson 2015). Delving beyond conventional approaches in history, political science, and diplomacy, this chapter contributes to opening up studies of non-alignment to a greater variety of disciplines, sources, and methods. Rather than viewing the presence of international students in Yugoslavia as a by-product of its foreign policy of non-alignment, we view Yugoslav diplomacy as only one dimension of the large-scale social change brought about by the construction of a socialist state. We rely on a sociological field-theoretic framework (DugonjicRodwin 2021) and combine, as a result, a review of Yugoslav archives with statistical data and interviews with alumni of Yugoslav universities from the period 1960–90. We place less emphasis on top-down policies pieced together exclusively from archival sources and focus more on the social conditions of reception to which the trajectories and the experience of international alumni

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bear witness. How did the democratization of Yugoslav higher education inform the policy of non-alignment? What can be said about student flows and their evolution? Why did these students choose to study in Yugoslavia? In addressing these questions, we distinguish three levels of analysis: macro (global flow of international students), meso (the Yugoslav education system, institutions and programs for international students), and micro (experiences and trajectories of international alumni). We also bring in a sociological framework to understand educational strategies in a transnational context. In a social and scientific context dominated by the culture of individualism (Elias 1983) and methodological nationalism (Wimmer and Glick Shiller 2002), we are encouraged to value national contexts and individual variations over common traits and other levels of analysis. In spite of this individualist paradigm, Elias (1983) stressed that from the point of view of temporality, the relevant unit in history is not the individual but the specific configuration of social structures. In the case under study, however, individuals outlive institutions in the multiple countries through which they navigate. Indeed, students’ trajectories are marked by contexts of changing political regimes in the countries of departure – be it in Iraq, Kenya, or Algeria – as well as the break-up of social structures in the host country, Yugoslavia. International alumni who stayed in Yugoslavia are therefore a case in point for questioning conventional views on transnational educational strategies as a form of social distinction at the national level. While this has shown to be a valid approach to internationally mobile elites, it is limited to studies of dominant classes and less valid for those of dominated classes, ethnicized and stigmatized social groups such as “foreign students” whether they are immigrants or stateless refugees. These are all social conditions that fragment and weaken cultural capital and decrease the profitability of educational qualifications (Serre and Wagner 2015, 447).

A Note on Theory, Method, and Sources Internationally oriented elites have been said to accumulate national and international forms of capital by expanding across overlapping national and international boundaries. Based on cross-country comparisons, the consensus among scholars is to consider new forms of “international,” “transnational,”

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or “cosmopolitan” capital as resource multipliers (Aguiar and Nogueira 2012; de Saint Martin, Broady, and Palme 1995; Weenink 2008). Whereas the comparative advantage of field theory is to stress the joint action and multidimensionality of different types of resources (economic, cultural, social, and symbolic), hasty theorizing of new forms of capital often misses this point, considering Bourdieu’s concept of capital as a variable whose “effects” can be isolated from others as in a regression analysis, the dominant form of quantitative inquiry in sociology, suggesting that capital is something people “have” (Besbris and Khan 2017, 150). Moreover, to study international trajectories, it is necessary to interpret data coming from different national contexts (DavidIsmayil, Dugonjić, and Lecler 2015), which adds to the variations in historical periods and local contexts and represents an “epistemological obstacle” (Bachelard 2004) given the national anchoring of academic disciplines such as history and sociology (Heilbron and Sora 2018). In other words, sociologists are still reluctant to analyze trajectories that fit into multiple national contexts. We focus on those who stayed in Yugoslavia, specifically Serbia, as a way to address this obstacle. It also allows us to construct international alumni in Yugoslavia as a case study for analyzing educational strategies in a transnational context of possible educational investments where economic and/or social capital may have been converted into cultural capital and its value more or less recognized on the market or in a social space or field – referred to as “symbolic capital” or “symbolic profit” (Bourdieu and Passeron 1990), a kind of resource that is defined by Bourdieu (1985) as the relationship between a property and its recognition within a given field, market, or society at large. Our interview questions thus focused on family histories and the individual trajectories to identify the different kinds of capital that defined students’ origins and social positions. Rather than using interviews as illustrations or empirical evidence for arguments, we analyze them along with the social properties of the interviewees as advocated by Bourdieu (1981). This chapter describes their educational strategies; that is, the improvised investments, sometimes at a loss, these individuals made in a transnational setting and analyzes them in terms of their symbolic advantages and disadvantages; that is, their recognition or lack thereof in the host society (Bourdieu 1985). Note that the sociological concept of strategy does not designate calculated action in Bourdieu’s field theory, but rather actors’ capacity to improvise with regard to internalized dispositions, mental structures or “habitus,” and external

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constraints (Sapiro 2015). Their trajectories raise the question of the value of capital in its different forms (Bourdieu 1986) and within specific spheres of activity or “social fields,” in particular its “reconversion,” defined as a change in strategies of reproduction according to the specificities of different social contexts (Bourdieu 1972; de Saint Martin 2011). The archives contain contradictory data on student numbers depending on the source: the Yugoslav Student Union, which dealt with practical matters such as residence, political, social, and cultural activities, or the Commission on International Cultural Relations, which awarded scholarships to international students and centralized their recruitment at the federal level.3 The best option was to use data from the Federal Institute of Statistics (Savezni Zavod za Statistiku) for the period 1950–90, with the aim of considering the proportion of the official category “foreign students” among the total number of students and then comparing it with data for other countries. The archive collects documents produced by student associations and other official state bodies and lacks data not only on students’ encounters with Yugoslav society and its members but also on their origins and social positions. Data on the fate of international students after their studies is missing as well. We have collected this data by conducting eight interviews in Serbia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, mainly in Belgrade and Vojvodina. Given the limited resources4 available for this study and the epistemological challenges of researching international trajectories evoked above, we decided to focus on those who remained in Yugoslavia during and after the ethnonationalist wars of the 1990s in order to have the same reference for the social structures of the “host country.” We therefore excluded an exploratory interview that we had conducted with Asbneth, originally from Ethiopia, who studied economics in Belgrade yet settled in New York. In contrast to other scholars working on international students from the Third World, who were able to approach alumni associations like Soyuzniki – Russian for “associates” – in Montreal, Canada, we sought interviewees through personal and professional contacts and obtained a small “snowball effect.” While interviewees were difficult to find due to the lack of alumni associations or other institutional structures, they were all available and enjoyed recounting their lives. Whereas female students were invisible in the archives, federal statistics presented fragmentary data, and interviewees’ narratives shed light on the interdependence between gender and race as analytical categories. We plan to conduct more

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interviews, including women and the children of alumni living in the postYugoslav space. The rest of the chapter is organized in two sections. We provide a brief portrait of higher education in Yugoslavia and the evolution of student enrolments from 1961 to 1991 to convey how non-alignment is constructed from below, based on processes of democratization and internationalization. We then focus on the ten-year period between 1955 and 1965 to analyze geographic origins before examining the trajectories of the interviewees and their social origins.

Democratization and Internationalization of Higher Education in Yugoslavia The democratization of education was rapid and widespread in Yugoslavia, such that the enrolment rate in higher education in the 1960s exceeded that of many highly developed European states such as Sweden (Castel 1968). However, unlike students in French universities, one-third of Yugoslav students came from technical schools or professional backgrounds. Despite variable framing of vocation-oriented reforms (Bacevic 2016), democratization was largely achieved through the expansion of technical education at the secondary level, as argued by Castel (1968). This presupposed two things: first, that technical schools were an effective preparation for higher education and second, that technical education had to be socially recognized (Martić and Supek 1967). Between 1939 and 1964, the number of students attending traditional secondary schools (gymnasium) declined, in contrast to the number of students attending technical secondary schools, which increased fifteenfold (ibid.). This growth in technical education brought Yugoslavia closer to the full enrolment of its population, dramatically reversing the prewar trend of widespread illiteracy, which had reached 50 per cent in 1938 (ibid.). No state in the region, either before or after socialist Yugoslavia, had invested so much in educating its people. This best illustrates how education entailed profound changes in social structures. While there were only three universities before the socialist period – in Belgrade, Zagreb, and Ljubljana – in the kingdom of Yugoslavia, there were 158 in 1975. The number of secondary school graduates increased tenfold; the number of students more than doubled in ten years, rising steadily from 54,763

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13.1 The evolution of students in Yugoslavia, 1951–91, in absolute numbers.

in 1951 to 140,574 in 1960 (see figure 13.1). In the postwar years, the main task of higher education in Yugoslavia was to train highly qualified professionals in economic, social, and cultural spheres. According to this criterion, socialist Yugoslavia ranked fourth in Europe, after Sweden, the Netherlands, and the ussr (Calic 2019). In 1954–55, among students with scholarships from twenty countries, a third came from India and Burma. When significant numbers of students from non-aligned countries began to arrive at the universities of Belgrade, Zagreb, Ljubljana, Skopje, Novi Sad, and Sarajevo in the late 1950s, the

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13.2 Proportion of international students by nationality, 1955–65.

proportion of non-European students surpassed that of European students in 1961–62 (see figure 13.2). The share of North and South America together was less than 5 per cent; however, there was a slight but steady increase throughout the period. The League of Yugoslav Students’ Central Committee (Centralni Odbor ssj) had predicted that the number of international students in Yugoslavia would reach two thousand in 1961. While this did not happen during the period under study, in 1961–62, more than half of all international students were from non-European countries, and after 1962–63, more than two-thirds were from outside Europe. Indeed, the number of European students declined over the ten-year period: in 1955, 85.6 per cent were from Europe, while in 1965, 76.2 per cent were from non-European countries (see figure 13.2). In contrast, the proportion of African students more than doubled in 1958–59 (4.3 per cent) and again in 1962–63 (37.6 per cent) compared to the previous year.

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13.3 Proportion of non-European students by region, 1955–65.

In 1961–62, out of a total of 867 international students, 235 Africans were studying in Yugoslav universities, such that almost one-third of international students in Yugoslavia were of African origin (27.1 per cent). Their share steadily increased to more than one-third in subsequent years (see figure 13.3). While students from Asian countries5 were the primary beneficiaries of Yugoslavia’s non-aligned education policy, with more than 5 per cent of all international students a year earlier (see figure 13.3), the proportion of those from African countries rose rapidly – Ethiopia, South Africa, Kenya, Congo, Liberia, Morocco, the Ivory Coast, Somalia, Sudan, Tunisia, Uganda, and Zambia – such that they became the largest non-European group by 1960–61. In the same period, the last “human zoos” still attracted a white audience at the great Belgian exhibition of 1958 (Blanchard et al. 2011) while Black people were refused entry to universities (Karabel 2005) in certain regions of the United States, a country commonly perceived as the centre of the “Free World” at the

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